The Rose's Thorn
by ElissaCousland
Summary: Poor Leliana. First she lost her mother, then Cecile, then Marjolaine. Now must she lose the Warden too? FEMSLASH! Leliana/F!Cousland. ch 31, A Blizzard.
1. The Bardic Way

Author's Note: Bioware owns everything you recognize, everything you don't is my own creation. Okay, so I don't even know where I'm going with this, so please feel free to R&R! This all stemmed from one question. When you play the femCousland origin, Duncan makes it clear to Bryce that he wants to recruit you, not Gilmore, and not Fergus. It makes more sense in the maleCousland playthrough because men are allowed to fight and swordplay, etc. But Duncan acts as if he's seen the femCousland fight before and is impressed by her prowess. So I made this all up to answer that question, and it turned out into a FemCousland/Leliana lovefic. It starts out with Marjolaine/Leliana, and OC/Cousland though. And just to give you fair warning, it's M-rated for sex. There are other adultish themes also, alluding to unpleasant things, but never graphic, I promise.

Very special thanks and double-double chocolate-chip cookies to Justified12 and elmjuniper for beta-ing. I'm pretty satisfied now that chapter one is done and ready for reading. hehe, whenever I think it's done I always want to add just a bit more, ;) and yes, there's some Leliana/Marjolaine sex in this chapter, a bit rough for those weak of stomach, I suppose, but there's your warning.

*Edit*- 7-22-12- Edited. Find the full version at www_yourfanfiction_com. For those still following this story, I thank you for your continued support, and I am currently working on the next chapter. See my profile for details of how you can help.

* * *

The Rose's Thorn

Ch.1-The Bardic Way (Revised)

Bright, joyous music filled the hall. Wine flowed freely into quickly-emptied goblets. Lords and Ladies danced, feasted, laughed. Lady Cecile's annual Spring Ball was a welcomed event to the Orlesian courtesans, it represented the casting off the harsh Northwestern winter, and the glorious warm embrace of the sun's renewed love upon the land.

The Lady herself was not present at this year's festivities. Her seat at the head of the table was glaringly empty. Some of the courtesans wondered whether it was the work of the bards that lurked in plain sight, conniving, lying, and manipulating their way among the Orlesian nobility to suit the twisted desires of their employers.

Lady Elise, however, knew better. Her gaze fell worriedly upon the empty seat. _The cancer is working fast. The end must be near._ she thought. Less than a month ago, she had visited her old friend and Cecile had seemed quite strong, even after the healer had given his grim diagnosis.

Her thoughts were interrupted suddenly by something warm and wet on her right shoulder. _Curse you, you little bastard, I ought to wring your little neck!_ The bird sat, an unhappy prisoner, entwined in her hair by braids and plaits. He could not escape and he was angry. He pecked at her head. Not to be embarrassed, Lady Elise ignored his chattering and wiped the bird shit off her bare shoulder with her napkin, all the while smiling for the benefit of the other nobles. The bird on the left side of her head decided to agree with his companion's opinion of their situation and let loose his bowels into the Lady's food, fluttering his wings and squawking in angry protest. The third bird, the one that sat on the top of her head, finally joined in and shitted in her hair, a warm, wet feeling on her skull. She smiled a false smile and laughed at her fellow nobles jokes and innuendos. She scooped a bite of food into her mouth. It tasted strange, a bit unusual… but, actually, it was rather good. _I must ask Cecile's cook for the recipe for this… cream sauce, _she thought to herself.

* * *

Imagination is a lonely little girl's best friend.

She bounded lightly through the halls, the skirt of her pink, frilly dress billowing around her as she skipped and twirled. Her mind's eye turned the hallway into a lush forest glen, from her mother's homeland of Ferelden. Mother used to tell her all sorts of grand tales, most of them children's stories and fables. She could not remember much of her mother now, it had been so long since she had passed into the Fade, but she felt closer to her when she thought of her stories.

Her favorite was a fantasy tale of a faerie named Lydia who sought to become human because she had fallen in love with a wounded soldier. The Fey Council, the ruling body of her people, was opposed to the forbidden union of course. That was what the faeries called themselves, the fey. The idea of strange magic's and odd creatures of human form, but much smaller in size , with insect-like wings easily intrigued the young girl's mind.

For the ball, she had requested her hair to be put up in the latest fashion, with long, colored feathers set into the plaits. She was not allowed to wear make-up yet, as she was only eleven years old. Still, Cecile indulged her imagination, allowing her to wear glitter around her cheeks and forehead, simulating the shimmering, luminescent skin of the fey. A pair of lace wings had been made for her, their shape secured by a simple thin wire, and sewed onto the back of the dress. Pale pink shoes, embellished with sequins, and with just the beginnings of a heel, completed the outfit.

She pranced and twirled gracefully as her ballet tutor had taught her, recounting the tale to herself with song. Her high soprano lilting gently through the halls.

* * *

"Find her," Lady Cecile coughed, blood spattering onto the cloth in her hand. "Bring her to me," she wheezed wearily, eyes rolling back into her head. The servant nodded. He bowed as he made his exit.

She was not hard to find. The courtesans visited every year, and they loved Cecile's adopted daughter as one of their own. She plucked the harp with expert grace any adult-aged lifelong student would be envious of. Her soft song told the tale of Orlesian victory over the opposing Nevarran barbarian army.

From her post at the harp, she could watch the events of the night, unnoticed by the nobles, save for the occasional applause. Every now and then her eyes darted to Lady Elise and her…situation. She took the information in, and stifled her giggles away in her brain, saving them for later, when the guests had all gone, and she could properly laugh out loud about the bird poo in the Lady's hair.

Across the room, a noblewoman stared at her with eyes and hair as black as a raven's wing. Leliana recognized her, but could not remember her name. _Marie? Marguerite?_

Something in the woman's gaze frightened her. From somewhere deep in her subconscious mind, instinct screamed at her STAY AWAY from that one. But she was too young and innocent to recognize the warning for what it was. The dark eyes regarded her, sizing up her worth and possible usefulness.

A strong hand squeezed her shoulder. She jumped, letting out a tiny squeal of fear. She glanced up at her would-be assailant, heart beating a million miles per minute. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw it was only Peirre, Lady Cecile's man-servant.

Peirre quietly ushered her away from the dining hall. The corridor was empty, and eerily quiet. Her tiny shoes echoed loudly in her ears with each step. Pierre opened the door to Lady Cecile's bedchamber.

The room was dark. Heavy curtains had been drawn shut over the windows. Lady Cecile lay on the huge four-poster bed, her expensive quilts drawn up to her neck. Leliana's eyes adjusted slowly as she made her way to the Lady's side.

She clasped her guardian's hand, and the Lady startled, her old wrinkled eyes drawing open heavily as if it took all of her remaining strength to do so. She glanced over at her young charge and smiled a rueful smile.

"Sing…" the Lady requested in a weak voice.

"What shall I sing, My Lady?"

"Sing… the song the elves taught you…" Lady Cecile sighed with great effort. She coughed a bit more into her handkercheif.

Leliana polite as ever, gave a small curtsey at Cecile's request. She walked over to the harp by the window and began to play it, drawing her small talented hands over the strings.

Cecile smiled at her adopted daughter, thinking of the girl's mother and how she would always sing while doing chores.

When Leliana had been born, her mother always sang to her, rocking the baby to sleep. She had her mother's musical talent, to be sure. Cecile's heart tugged with a pang of pity at the sight of the poor girl.

She also had her mother's simple beauty. The maid was one who had never had the need to cover her face up with powders and make-ups. The rosy blush to her pale cheeks was natural, complementing her hair, and bringing out the stark hue of her eyes.

Leliana's features reminded Cecile of the maiden then, for she was about the same age as her mother had been when Cecile had offered the poor gutter-waif a job.

With all her remaining effort, Cecile smiled at the red-haired angel with feathers in her hair, whose soft voice carried her over to the Fade.

"What shall I sing next, My Lady?"

No answer.

"My Lady?"

Pierre hung his head.

"No!" she ran to the bed and threw herself upon the body, crying loud, heartbroken sobs into the darkness.

* * *

"You are sure she is not yours?" Ricard asked.

"Of course not! Like I said, caught the little gutterrat stealing a baguette…Not as clever as you thought you were, eh?" He said the last part to the child in question.

Ricard eyed the baker suspiciously. He was a fat man, obviously eating much of his profits away. His face and apron stained with flour. One large hand gripped the child's arm, mercilessly, the knuckles gone entirely white. She should have cried out in pain, but she did not.

Ricard stroked his beard. Markus was not known to be a liar, but times were tough for everyone. It would not be a surprise if the girl was in fact his own daughter. His eyes traveled the child once-over.

Her hair was matted, tangled and filthy. She was scrawny, as if she had not eaten in weeks. Beneath her eyes were dark circles that said she had not slept well in as much time either. Her clothes were of fine make, though, the materials used were probably worth more than her own life at the moment. They too were tattered and filthy, but a few scraps could likely be salvaged and sold to a high bidder.

Ricard smiled inwardly, he could make a nice a profit on this one.

"So…" the baker asked eagerly, " twenty silver?"

"Ten." Ricard offered.

"Ten!" Markus was incensed.

"I could get a dozen just like her for two copper apiece," Ricard reasoned, "Why should I take _this_ one off _your_ hands for a small fortune?"

"Oh all right…" the baker sighed wearily, "ten it is then."

Ricard smiled, " A done deal then," he gave his hand on it, then paid the baker, who promptly shoved the girl in Ricard's direction.

She stumbled and nearly fell. Ricard caught her and dragged her to the end of the long line of orphans, all held together by one long chain with shackles every foot and a half. He clamped hers down tightly into place, securing her wrists, then he loaded them all up into the cart, packing them in so close they hardly had room to move.

He mounted the front of the cart and clucked his tongue. The horses started up, and he guided them toward the black market.

"How old did you say?" The Orlesian noble asked, eyeing the scrawny red-head lecherously.

"Speak child," Ricard instructed.

"I- I am eleven," she said in a soft whisper.

The Orlesian noble's eyes narrowed at Ricard, "A bit _small_ for her age, no?"

Ricard merely shrugged.

The Orlesian noble glanced past the redhead to the other children, his eyes resting on a blonde girl about the same size as the redhead. "And the blonde?" he asked.

"She's nine…almost ten," Ricard replied.

The Orlesian noble looked over all of them. He spotted two more, dark-haired boys, that caught his wicked interest. "The elves?" he asked.

"Ah, yes, Dalish orphans, twins," Ricard suggested, "I can give you both for the price of one on those."

An evil smile spread across the Orlesian noble's face in a horrid grimace. The children cringed.

When all hope seemed lost, a woman stepped forward from the crowd of potential buyers. She was tall and well-bred. Her dark hair flowed in luxurious waves down to her shoulders.

Ricard bowed in recognition, "My Lady…" he said respectfully, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence today?"

She cast a quick glance over the children. Her eyes found the scrawny redhead. Big blue eyes stared back at her in fear. _Leliana?_

Marjolaine regained her composure. "I require children," she stated.

"But of course…If My Lady is barren, we have a fine selection today…"

Marjolaine laughed a sultry laugh, working her feminine wiles over Ricard.

She recognized the Orlesian nobleman. There were many rumors in the court of his evil deeds and how the children in his…care always wound up dead somehow. Funny, though, how none of his victims were past a certain age.

She cast another quick glance over the children. Only four were in danger of him, the rest were males fifteen and up, well-built and muscular, obviously old enough and strong enough to fight back.

"Such a jester, Ricard," she said teasingly.

"I am opening a school for minstrels. Have you any children with musical talents?" she asked.

"What about this one?" she asked pulling Leliana away from the perverted nobleman. "Can she sing?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Ricard glanced at her, "Well, child? Can you sing?"

Leliana glanced up hopefully at Marjolaine. She sang beautifully for her.

Ricard smiled, and Marjolaine could see the cogs working in his mind. The price had just gone up. She would pay a pretty coin for them, but it was a small price to pay in her eyes.

"I'll take her," Marjolaine said, "How much?"

"I thought we had a deal?" the Orlesian nobleman spoke up.

Ricard merely smiled mockingly at him, "Coin has not exchanged hands yet, my friend."

"Bah! I'll pay double then, for this one _and _the blonde" he said, grabbing Leliana by the arm.

"Not so quick, dear," Marjolaine said, "I will double his double, Ricard, and I will take the Elvish twins off your hands as well."

The nobleman stormed off in a huff, cursing her. He was not willing to pay such a price, and the rest held no interest for him.

Marjolaine smiled as she paid Ricard. Her man-servant loaded her new charges into her carriage. She climbed in after them, then glared down in disgust at their rags of clothing. Leliana and the other girl wore burlap sacks for dresses. The elvish boys wore breeches of the same material. Ricard hadn't bothered with tops for the boys.

Ugghh! They would all need a proper bath, she thought, pinching her nose shut, and breathing through her mouth. But first…

" Corsair!" she called to the driver, "To the tailor!"

The carriage quickly changed direction. She smiled a benevolent smile at the timid children. Leliana climbed up onto the seat next to her.

"Thank you, My Lady." she said politely.

Marjolaine cocked her head at the girl. "You are Cecile's daughter, Leliana, am I correct?" she asked.

The girl nodded, " Yes, but I have forgotten your name My Lady," she said sheepishly, a soft blush painting her small cheeks crimson.

"Marjolaine, dear. I am Marjolaine."

* * *

Leliana leaned back and sunk her body down into the warm, flowered water. She had always enjoyed a nice bath after the days' strenuous training. She had bested four of her companions at once in a dagger-play competition, and now her muscles ached from the exertion. She had never been physically big or strong, but she was quick, light on her feet, with the agility and deadly grace of a forest cat. Leliana could not hide the smile she felt coming on. Marjolaine would be pleased.

Entry into the Grand Tourney each year for those who were not high-born was by invitation only. Surely when the chevalier heard news of her victory in today's preliminary rounds, they would send for her.

Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of familiar footfalls. Serai, her best friend and fellow bard-in-training, had entered quietly. Too quietly. She turned quickly to see the younger girl only a few feet away from her. _Very, very dangerous, Leliana. You must never let your guard down. That is the key to survival. And above all, you must survive, no?_ Marjolaine's voice in her head reprimanded her for her foolishness.

"Sister, I did not hear you come in,"

"I'm sorry if I startled you, but you seemed so relaxed, so peaceful I did not want to interrupt," the blonde bard apologized.

"You should not be sorry," Leliana reminded her, " I should have been more alert. 'Tis my fault, not yours."

"Leliana, mistress Marjolaine requests your presence in her chambers immediately," Serai, gave a quick curtsey and hurried off to attend other duties.

Leliana reluctantly left the warmth of the tub and grabbed the nearest bathrobe. It was of fine Orlesian silk embroidered with a golden pattern of birds along the trim. She cinched the belt and quickly dried her hair. She wondered if perhaps she should go to her room and dress properly…but, no, Serai had said "immediately" and she knew better than to keep Marjolaine waiting.

Leliana brushed her long red hair from her face and wondered what it was that Marjolaine wanted. Her training was nearly complete. Would she now be given her first assignment? What skills of hers would be put to the test? For Leliana was skilled in many things. As a lady of the court, she was talented in song and dance and all sorts of instruments. As a bard, her abilities lay in somewhat 'less than honorable' talents.

_Perhaps, she wishes to congratulate me? _She though as she made her way down the long twisting corridors of the grand house. It was not quite a castle, but only by very little. Finally Leliana reached the large reinforced ironbark double-doors marked with a giant "M". She had always wondered about the arrogance behind that. As a bard, would Marjolaine not have preferred something a bit more subtle? If one was looking for Marjolaine to harm her, would they not first look here? Or perhaps this was only where she held her audiences, and she secretly slept in another chamber. After all, everyone knew the grand house was full of secret passages leading to other parts of the house, and underground tunnels that ran and beneath the streets of Val Royeaux.

She entered quietly, but found no sign of her bard-master. "M-mistress?" she called. There was no one in the room, at least not that she could tell. The giant, four post canopy bed took up most of the eastern wall. The frame was fine Sylvanwood, handsomely carved with a Tevinter pattern of five centuries ago. A nice antique.

There was a large, roaring fire in the fireplace, on the opposite side of the room. She was instinctively drawn towards it, as she had just left the bath and there had been a chill in the air tonight. The bathrobe was still damp and clung tightly to her firm, young body. She warmed herself by the fire and tried to dry the rest of the way off.

"Ah, Leliana," Marjolaine purred in her deep Tevinter accent, "so glad to see you, my dear." Leliana turned to see her mentor, wearing as little as possible. The robe was of fine Orlesian silk, Marjolaine's favorite material, known across the Imperium for it's delicate softness. It was a sheer layer and Leliana could easily see that Marjolaine wore no undergarments. The robe had no sleeves. The neckline plunged down to reveal just a hint of the older bard's breasts and the tight muscles of her stomach. A single button seemed to miraculously hold the robe together at her navel, and the rest was left to hang free to mid-thigh. It was only Marjolaine's own grace of movement that allowed her to -barely- not expose herself to the younger bard, as she closed the distance between them.

"Y-you called for me, m-mistress?" Leliana stammered, while she averted her gaze to Marjolaine's face. A smile curled Marjolaine's lips, she had seen the look, and she had also seen the blush on the young bard's face, heard the way her lilting voice had faltered.

"I heard of your victory in today's preliminaries…Congratulations.."

Marjolaine's dark eyes pierced Leliana's gaze, searching for truth, and something…more. Leliana could not figure what it was, but there was definitely something more in the older woman's eyes, something almost…predatory. It frightened Leliana, but she would not show it to her bardmaster.

"You are eighteen now, I have heard." It was a statement, not a question. "Yes, mistress," she said.

The smile on Marjolaine's face grew wider, her eyes held a strange twinkle Leliana had seen on rare occasion, and yet, she had begun to see that same look increasingly directed at her for the past two years. "Forgive me for not taking notice sooner," Marjolaine appealed, "How long now?"

"It was just a fortnight ago, mistress."

"Then, we must celebrate," the older bard mused, " and please, my dear, sweet Leliana, you may call me Marjolaine."

"Yes, mistress…um, Marjolaine…"

_A celebration? For me? _Leliana, in all her innocence, had no idea what Marjolaine's true intent was tonight.

Marjolaine caressed the younger woman's cheek, tracing down the line of her jaw to her chin, pausing lightly at her soft, supple lips. She took the last step separating them so that now their bodies were only a hair's breadth apart. The press of Marjolaine's body against hers sent a shiver down Leliana's spine. In one swift movement, the older bard undid the sash holding Leliana's robe in place. It slid haplessly off her shoulder, exposing one side of her to the older woman. "My dear, sweet girl, " Marjolaine whispered in Leliana's ear, as she trailed a finger down Leliana's taut stomach, "there is one part of your training that has been neglected,".

Her finger continued its path down Leliana's abdomen, lower…lower…lower. Marjolaine paused just before the line of fine auburn hairs, letting her finger trace the line back and forth.

Leliana's heart raced in her chest like that of a deer caught in the hunter's sight. She finally understood what Marjolaine wanted. She finally understood that predatory gleam in the older bard's gaze. What she had not understood until this very moment, was that the deer had _wanted_ to be caught.

Leliana had still not said a word. Marjolaine kissed her cautiously leaning in slowly at first, and brushing their lips together almost chastely, hoping the young girl would not protest. "You must understand, Leliana," she spoke softly against the young bard's mouth, "that I have wanted this for a long time,"

The press of her lips on Leliana's each time Marjolaine spoke was stirring in the young bard a need she had not known to exist until now. It began in the pit of her stomach and slowly radiated outward in all directions until every fiber of her body screamed with it, desperate for…she knew not what.

Marjolaine kissed her gently on the neck, eliciting a small gasp of pleasure from Leliana. She whispered in the girl's ear as she delicately traced with one hand, the outline of her hips, her waist, her breasts.

"Now is the time…good things come to those who wait, no?"

Leliana threw her head back and moaned loudly. She could take no more teasing. She grabbed Marjolaine's face between her hands kissed her hard and passionate. All tongue and desire. Marjolaine broke away from the kiss with a throaty laugh, "Yes, yes of course, they do!"

The two exchanged ever more passionate kisses as they moved together across the room. Leliana had just a moment to wonder where their robes had gone, before she was tossed ungraciously upon the bed. Marjolaine pinned Leliana's arms above her head with one hand and spread her thighs open with the other, all the while kissing her neck and whispering sweet nothings to her in the Tevinter tongue. Leliana understood none of it, only that Marjolaine's voice was incredibly sexy.

Leliana moaned helplessly, her blue eyes, sparkling with the light of the stars,

"Oh! Maker!"

Marjolaine expertly caressed the young bard, bringing pleasured cries from Leliana.

"Yes, Marjolaine!" "Dear Maker!" "Don't stop!"

Marjolaine released Leliana's wrists and moved down on the bed. The cries escaping the young woman, became ever more desperate, until finally, Leliana's body quivered. Leliana felt an empty ache when Marjolaine withdrew. She did not want this to be over so soon, yet she felt awash with warm, fuzzy, sleepiness and contented delight.

Her breathing rhythym was beginning to slow to normal again, and when she heard Marjolaine's footfalls near the bed, she realized that Marjolaine had been gone, and had now returned. She sobered immediately from her half-dozing state to see Marjolaine was still nude, and she was wearing some type of contraption.

A wide grin formed on Marjolaine's face as she entered Leliana once more. She brought the younger woman up on both knees so that Leliana's back was pressed firmly against Marjolaine's breasts.

This time there was no foreplay. Marjolaine had not waited this long to "make love" to Leliana. Leliana's pleasured cries were much louder this time. Marjolaine grabbed a thick handful of the bard's red hair and jerked it. "Who is your mistress?" she demanded.

Leliana, a bit confused, managed , "y-you are, of course…"

Marjolaine growled in Leliana's ear "Say it! Say my name you little red-haired slut!"

Marjolaine slowed her rhythym, and Leliana understood that Marjolaine would not continue, until she complied with her master's request. Leliana of course was much enjoying herself, so she did as she was asked.

"Marjolaine!" she screamed, "Marjolaine!"

The older bard grabbed Leliana by the waist. Each time Leliana thought she couldn't take anymore, Marjolaine's hands on her sex, on her breasts, these sensations crested and faded like the tide, adding to her pleasure, but they were secondary to Marjolaine, and every now and then, Leliana's body would threaten to collapse beneath her. The screams that tore from her throat were more the sound of some kind of animal, rather than human.

When she finally did collapse on the bed, Leliana's voice had gone hoarse from screaming, and could only manage small moaning sounds. Marjolaine rolled her over onto her back. Leliana was long gone into another state of mind.

Marjolaine caressed Leliana's face, and wiped the sweat from her brow, and was again whispering sweet nothings in Tevinter.

Leliana looked into her lover's dark eyes. "I love you," she declared, "by the Maker, Marjolaine, I love you."

Marjolaine chuckled softly to herself as she held Leliana's face in her hand. "My dear, sweet Leliana, you are so very precious."

She was right.

Dear, sweet, innnocent, Leliana, took that empty statement as a declaration of Marjolaine's own love for her.

* * *

A/N: So thanks for reading and please review! let me know what you liked, and what you don't like if anything, if you feel there is anything missing. I will try to get the next few chapters up soon. and I might not follow the game events to the exact letter, because all the quests have you running around willy-nilly all over the map, so I'm going to try to send them in a straight line, because logically, if you have to stop the blight, you don't have time to backtrack and such, so I might just move things around on the map, or change when certain things happen.

Take care,

Till next update!

;) E.C.


	2. A Proper Lady

Author's Note: Bioware owns the things and ppl you recognize, all other OC's and such are mine.

Okay, I think this is ready now. Been through several betas and I've been over it so much I 'm sick of it. Heh. If there are still any misspellings of the word "teyrn" or "teyrna", I apologize for my minor dyslexia. Once again thanks to my lovely betas elmjuniper and justified12 for betawork on this. Enjoy the update.

The Rose's Thorn

Ch.2.- A Proper Lady

The young elven boy's body stilled. The tips of his pointed ears twitched, once. The little girl cocked her head, glancing sideways at him.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

His expression turned apprehensive, "I-I think your mother comes," he said quickly and scrambled down the stone wall.

"But I don't hear any--" the girl began.

"ELISSA-JADIEN-ISABELLE-COUSLAND!"

She cringed, with the sudden certainty that she would be scrubbing the larder floors tonight.

"Get down from there this instant!!"

She ignored the fear in her stomach and hopped down from the perimeter wall. She landed perfectly on the dusty road below, absorbing the shock with her knees, one hand on the ground to catch herself from pitching forward completely.

She wiped her small hands on the cream-colored fabric of her tunic and breeches. She warily approached her angered mother. She could see the boy standing beside her mother. It was Thomas Howe. His perfect, noble features marred by a fist-sized bruise over his left eye. He stuck out his tongue at Elissa from behind the teyrna's back.

The teyrna's eyes flew wide open, "Are those the linens I ordered from Antiva for your salon _dress_?" she bemoaned with an exasperated sigh

_Uh-oh._

Elissa looked at her mother with a sheepish grin.

"Fine. We shall discuss that later, but first…Did you hit Thomas?"

If mother or Thomas expected her to flinch, she would not give either the satisfaction. She straightened up, her feet shoulder width apart, arms clasped behind her back. She held her chin high. "Yes, I did," she admitted freely.

"Why?" the teyrna demanded.

Elissa wanted to tell her mother everything. She and her elven friend Damien had been playing with his bo-ken. Thomas had stolen it. She had politely asked for him to return it and instead Thomas had broken the wooden practice sword over his knee. He had pushed Elissa into the dirt. He had laughed at her, and called Damien a "knife-ear".

He was a bully, but to tell her mother this, she would have to reveal her own transgressions. One, that she had been in the alienage, and two, that she had been playing with swords…again…

Her eyes narrowed into slits as she stared daggers at the …jerk. In her young mind, it was the worst word she could think to call him. The teyrna tapped her foot impatiently, "Well…?"

"Because he _deserved_ it," Elissa replied, venomously.

The blow came sharp and quick against her cheek. It stung like a dozen firebees. Frustrated rage welled up in the young teyrneta's eyes, but she refused to let it spill.

"You will not speak against your future husband in such a manner, again!" her mother insisted.

"No!" Elissa screamed at the top of her lungs, "I'll never marry him! Never!" Her bootsteps echoed in the teyrna's ears as she ran through the streets of Highever.

*******

When Eleanor Cousland returned to the chamber she shared with her husband, she found him cradling the form of their daughter. They both glanced up as she came into the room. Elissa's cheek was still marked with a pinkish welt. She gave her mother an accusatory look.

Bryce stood, settling Elissa down onto the bed, and walked over to his wife. "Eleanor, what is the meaning of this?" he asked softly. The teyrna crossed her arms in defense.

"How are we to secure an alliance with the Arl when his son cannot even visit without leaving injured?" she demanded, her voice raising several octaves. As if in response, Elissa joined her father at his side and held fast to his waist.

He absently tousled her hair as he tried to talk sense into his wife. "I have spoken to several witnesses, my love. They all tell me Thomas was the instigator."

"Regardless, Bryce, that does not excuse her behavior!" the teyrna insisted.

"Darling, she's _eight_. Thomas is _twelve_. It is my opinion the little _bastard_ got what he deserved."

"Bryce!! Such language is not for young ears!"

The teyrn took a knee, addressing Elissa softly, as if sharing a secret , "You really socked him good, didn't you, pup?" A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, exposing a singular dimple on one side, a gift from her mother's blood.

He patted Elissa on the back and told her to go help Nan in the kitchen. He knew better than to undermine his wife, who was already cross with him. Pup would have to take her punishment, but perhaps he could get her something nice. Maybe she was ready for a _real_ sword.

"Really, Bryce, it's a wonder if I'll ever make a _proper_ lady out of _your_ daughter!" Eleanor sighed in frustration.

The teyrn stood, put his arms around his wife's waist and pulled back to look at her. "My dear wife, why is it, that only when her behavior comes into question, she becomes _my_ daughter?"

She looked up at her husband, "Because it is _your_ influence that has made her this way," she reasoned. He laughed then, a rich, warm sound that sent a shiver of desire down her spine. After all these years, she still desired him so, even while she tried to stay angry at him.

"Oh?" the teyrn asked, still chuckling as he raised a brow at her. "I seem to recall a rather _rambunctious_ maid of…what was it, _sixteen_ years…?"

The teyrna's cheeks flushed. She was flustered.

The teyrn kissed her on the forehead, then caressed her cheek. "It appears, my love, that the fruit has indeed not fallen far from the tree."

"Perhaps," she admitted, her hand playing with his hair, "but 'tis her _father's_ fault that she is rotten!" she finished, pointing an accusatory finger into his chest.

Bryce Cousland laughed out loud at that, and finally had to concede to his wife on that point.

The teyrna sighed, folding one arm over her chest, resting her head in her other hand. "She's been in the alienage again,"

The teyrn smirked, "Then tell her she's allowed, and perhaps she won't want to anymore," he chuckled.

"This is not a matter for jest, Bryce, it's…dangerous…" she said, rubbing her arms in an effort to quell the fearful thoughts racing through her mind. There was much unrest in the alienage.

The Couslands had stewarded Highever for centuries and were well-loved by all, but still, she couldn't shake the fear that some overzealous madman might try to kidnap Elissa for a ransom…or…worse. Her eyes shined with tears. Her lip trembled.

The teyrn's fist tightened, his voice deepened with consternation. "No one would _dare_ harm _our_ daughter," he assured his wife.

Eleanor nodded absently, "She was with that elven boy…the swordsmith's son."

"Damien?" his tone made it a question.

The teyrna laid her head upon her husband's chest. "What are we going to do, Bryce? I fear she may run away with him."

Bryce blinked quickly. Then he laughed his rich laughter. "I believe you've a few years still before you need worry about our daughter eloping with an elf!"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but after a moment kissed him chastely and said, "She's _still_ scrubbing the larder tonight."

The teyrn barked another full-throated laugh and assured his wife that, given time, nature would take it's course, and love would eventually blossom between their daughter and Arl Howe's son.

*******

Her arms ached. She knew she would be sore for days. Still, she scrubbed hard, ignoring the pain and using the boar-hair bristles of the wood scrub-brush to vent her frustrations on the greasy cobbles of the larder. It just wasn't _fair_!

She fought past the ache in her knees and shoulders and scrubbed, cursing Thomas Howe under her breath. She would not marry him if he was the last boy in all Thedas! She would sooner marry…a…a… girl! Yes, a girl! That would serve him right! Imagine the _humiliation_ he would feel, when everyone learned his betrothed had instead married a _girl_!

A vengeful smile lighted on her face as she thought of Thomas Howe being made the laughing stock of both Highever and Amaranthine.

"Tsk, tsk…What've ya done, now, Lissie?" came a male voice from the larder door. She had not heard him enter. The boy slanted against the door on one shoulder, long legs crossed at the ankles, lanky arms folded over his chest. He was nearly a man.

When the teyrn had asked her about the mark on her face, Elissa had not cried. When her mother had hit her, she had not cried. As she scrubbed the floor, she had not cried. Not a single tear. Yet now, suddenly, it was as if a dam had broken within her heart. Tears flowed freely down her face. She threw the scrub-brush down and ran to him. "Fergus!"

He scooped her easily into his arms and let her cry. "Don't ever leave me again!" she wailed "I've missed you so all these months". Between her choked sobs he gathered what had happened. He was glad his training was complete and now he could stay close to home, at least for a while. It seemed his brotherly duty required him to kick the arse of a certain Arl's son.

"Come with me, Lissie," he spoke soothingly as he set her down on her feet.

"But, I'm not done," she lamented.

He nodded and took her hand. They walked a little down the hallway and found an elven servant-man. Quiet whispers as coin exchanged hands. The elf's eyes went wide as he stared down at the amount of silver. He nodded vigorously and jogged down the hall to the larder to fulfill his generous young lord's request.

Fergus led his sister quickly and quietly through the halls of Castle Cousland, avoiding both servant and guard alike. When they came to the courtyard, he led her to one of the stone benches overlooking the teyrna's herb garden. He reached underneath it and produced his leather pack.

"Close your eyes," he told her. She complied.

He rummaged through the pack and found what he was looking for. He pulled it out and set the pack on the ground.

"Open them," he instructed, presenting it to her.

She cracked one eye open slightly, then the other, peeking for a moment, then they both flew wide when her eyes settled on the scabbard. Her mouth was an O of wonderment, though she made no sound as she took the sheathed blade from her brother.

She gently nudged the blade from it's home, putting her thumbs together under the hilt and pressing upward just so. An easing of pressure told her the blade was no longer secured. She wrapped her right hand on the hilt and held the sheathe with her left, pulling the sword slowly out. There was a distinct metallic ring, an almost musical sound, as the blade came free.

Elissa examined the short sword carefully, her eyes taking in every detail. It glinted blue in the moonlight. _Damascus steel_, she marveled. There was not a single nick in the blade, it was brand new. This was not Fergus' commissioned infantry issue. At best, those practice blades were iron, or red steel. She hefted the sword, it was heavy enough to do decent damage, should she seriously have to use it, but not so heavy as to tire her quickly. It was just the right size for her, too. It felt, _right_.

Fergus watched her as she took a few practice swings. He smiled proudly. The Couslands were a long line, well-known for their battleskill and his little sister was no exception. With blade in hand, she was a natural. Of course, such raw talent would need instruction and discipline to hone it properly.

Her expression fell as she turned back to her brother. "I- I can't keep it, mom won't let me…" she said with severe certainty, sheathing the blade and handing it back to him.

She recalled in great clarity her father's birthday, a year ago. She had snuck into the armory and had stood on a high-backed chair to take the teyrn's sword, Parable, down from it's perch. It was not just any sword. Parable was the Cousland sword, handed down from father to son for generations well past her recollection. When Fergus came of age, she knew Papa would give it to him, but for now, it belonged to the teyrn.

It needed cleaned every year, or it would rust, sitting there without use. Her intent was to polish it for him, but her mother had chosen that very moment to walk in and startle her. She fell from the chair, and had dropped the blade, cutting her hand viciously across the palm. A healer had been called, but she still carried the telltale scar, and since then, mother would not let her near a blade again.

A sly smile turned Fergus' lips upward, "Then we won't _tell_ her, will we?" he said, winking one eye at his sister.

"But who will _teach_ me?" she wondered aloud.

"I will, silly," Fergus promised, tousling her hair in the same loving manner as Papa always did. "and when I am away, Gilmore can do it," he stated assuredly. "His father is a knight, and he graduated the soldier's academy a year before me."

"So, what are you going to name it, Lissie?" Fergus asked, voice laden with eager curiosity.

She thought a moment. She recalled the way the blade had gleamed in the moonlight. The flash of white reminded her of a Mabari's wicked maw.

"Fang." she pronounced.

Fergus nodded his approval.

*******

"Elissa!" the high-pitched voice came sudden and shrill, a stabbing jolt of pain her ear.

"Elissa Cousland!" The pain made the dream-world fade quickly.

The young woman slowly came to attention. Her hazel eyes fluttered open. She brushed honey-colored bangs out her eyes. Thread, needle, and some type of frilly blue fabric, lay discarded in her lap. Apparently she had fallen asleep during sewing lessons. Again.

"Wake up, and pay attention, girl!" The old woman heaved an exasperated sigh and threw her hands up in the air.

It took Elissa a moment to focus, to realize where she was. Her voice was still slurred when she spoke the last things she had heard the old woman say. "Stitches…and seams….lines…"

"Oh, for the Maker's sake! You'll never land a husband at this rate! Andraste knows why I even try with you!"

"Sorry, Nan, I've just been so tired,". The truth was, late-night-secret-sword-lessons-whilst-the-rest-of-Castle-Cousland-slept kept the young Lady tired. It was soon to be Elissa's eighteenth birthday. The onslaught of suitors that usually came every year, at this time -princes, teyrns-to-be, arls sons and the like- would be much unimpressed by a rough, unpolished brute of a girl. Her mother's restrictions in response to the marriage issue, were becoming tighter by the day it seemed.

However, Elissa - "Pup" to her dad- Cousland, had her own way of getting what she wanted. She had managed to avoid this whole dreadful marriage business for the past four years by enlisting the help of her father on the matter.

Bryce Cousland had spoiled his daughter from the very day she had been born and truthfully, he did not want her married off so quickly. She had begged him to let her continue her sword lessons. The teyrna had been insistent, but finally agreed to a compromise, if only to please her husband.

Her lessons had been allowed to continue so long as she also took the lessons her mother wished of her. That, however, had been years ago, and now Elissa was far beyond the age of engagement. Three months ago, her mother had insisted the swordplay stop for good.

"It's unbecoming of a proper lady," had been Mother's reasoning. Elissa had snorted her disgust- also "unladylike" - thinking it quite hypocritical of her mother, since she herself was a battlemaiden of Highever.

Thankfully, Fergus was also wrapped around her little finger. She was, after all, his _only_ sister, as he was so fond of saying. When the teyrna had demanded Ser Gilmore officially stop her sword lessons, Elissa had convinced her brother to train her at night, while the castle slept. Of course the downside- if one could _really_ call it that- was that she could now barely keep her eyes open during the day.

The matron heaved another big sigh, "What I said was…Make sure your stitches are even, so your lines and seams will be straight," Elissa nodded, with mock enthusiasm. For her part, she at least _tried_ to act like she cared. She cursed aloud when she poked herself for the hundredth time that morning, she took her finger into her mouth, tasting the sweet coppery flavor of her own blood.

The door to the large sitting room quietly opened. A handsome young man stepped inside. He was in his mid-twenties, tall, with dark hair and a beard. Elissa's eyes brightened immediately when she saw him. He held a scroll under his arm. He held it up and unrolled it. He cleared his throat and read in a commanding voice,

"Hear ye! Hear ye! :

As a gesture of friendship and alliance, the Orlesian Grand Tourney of Chevalier is to be held this year on the seventh month, seventh day, in the Ferelden city of Denerim! All those of noble birth, and their champions, are welcome to compete!" Fergus set the scroll down on one of the sewing tables and spoke again in a calm voice.

"Father has already agreed since the date coincides with your birthday. Mother took a bit more…_convincing_, but I told her it would give her an excuse to parade her beautiful daughter in front of throngs of eligible bachelors…so, that leaves it up to you.." He cocked an eyebrow at Elissa, "…You, _will_ be in attendance, won't you, my lady?"

"Fergus!," she cried as she ran to him. She jumped up. He caught her in his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist to keep from falling, grabbed his face in both her hands and loudly smacked many kisses on both of his cheeks, squealing with delight. "Iloveyou! Iloveyou! Iloveyou! Iloveyou! Iloveyou!,"she cried.

Nan shook her head and muttered under her breath. "…if she acted that way with any of her suitors, there wouldn't _be_ a problem…"

Fergus laughed and set her down gently. He glanced apologetically at the old matron, "…So very sorry, Nan. But you see, with the Tourney only a fortnight away, we really _must_ begin preparations for our departure." He gave her a deep bow from the waist and held it a moment.

"Oh yes, _immediately_!" Elissa exclaimed, then added, "…So _very_, sorry Nan." She gave a quick curtsey.

Nan rolled her eyes at the two young nobles. She sighed with great exaggeration, playing the guilt card, "Your mother's going to have my head if she finds out I let you out of sewing class early today,"

Elissa looked sheepishly at her brother. He just looked back at her and shrugged.

Nan shooed them away with a tired wave of her hand. "Take your leave, then. Goodday, m'lady, milord."

"Good day, Nan!" they said in unison.

"Denerim!" Elissa exclaimed, clapping her hands together, " Fergus, tell me again what it's like!" Elissa could hardly contain her excitement.

"Ah, uh," he said, waving a finger at her, "It wouldn't do to spoil the surprise, Lissie. You'll find out soon enough."

Elissa wrinkled up her nose and pouted her lip at the nickname. Her brows furrowed.

Hearty laughter burst forth uncontrollably from her brother's lips. "You _really_ shouldn't make that face…No _wonder_ Nan can't find you a man!" Elissa feigned offense and punched him playfully on the arm.

"Oww! Hey, save it for the Tourney!" Fergus rubbed his arm, _That's going to bruise_, he thought. _I'd hate to see how hard she'd hit me if she really meant it!_

* * *

A/N: Is it too obvious where I'm going with this? ;P thanks for reading thus far, please review, it gives me incentive to write more!

Yea, so at this point, Elissa's kind of a spoiled brat, so beware of tantrums! Age-wise, I put Fergus about seven years older than Elissa. I guess it's not really too clear in that passage about him being a teen. Don't worry though, that's just a detail, and not important to the story at all. k, i've got a karate tourney in six hours, time to get some sleep!


	3. Fate or Chance

Author's Note: Bioware owns everything in this chapter, except for Fang, the sword. That's mine.

The Rose's Thorn

Ch.3- Fate or Chance

Denerim's grandeur was in no way exaggerated. It was an immense city surrounded by huge stone walls. The streets were mostly earthen, except for the main square which consisted of dark, polished cobblestone. There was a Chantry as large as Castle Cousland, a tavern, an outdoor market, shops wherever one could look, a smithy, and something called the Wonders of Thedas. All of this was crammed together in one district, merely a fraction of the city itself.

The crown jewel of Ferelden teemed with activity. Mimes, minstrels, jesters and magicians wowed and wooed the throngs of visitors and locals alike. Entertainments abounded to satisfy every desire and curiosity. Merchants stood at the ready with goods from every corner of Ferelden and a few imported from Orlais and Antiva. "Dwarven crafts!" a merchant called out as she passed, "Fine, Dwarven crafts! Direct from Orzammar!"

Elissa paused to look down at her map. The open-air market would be used as the grounds for the main sparring competition. Several rings had been roped off in the center of the square, to allow the sword-and-shield, dagger, and double-sword divisions to compete at the same time. _Orlesian rules_, Fergus had said, women could compete, but only against each other.

She turned to her left side, and fear gripped her core. Her nephew had wandered away. She stopped breathing. _Fergus is going to kill me! _Her eyes darted around the market square, quickly scanning each child. There were children everywhere, but none she recognized.

"Oren!" she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. _Where has he gone to?_ "Oren!"

*******

The small boy blew hopelessly into the flute. It sounded terrible, absolutely terrible. Leliana found she could not hide her smile, he seemed to be enjoying himself. She could tell he was high-born by the clothes he wore. The fabrics were too fine for an orphan or peasant. The boy was too well-fed, and too clean. His dark hair was silken and shined in the sunglight, too well-cared-for.

The mysterious noble boy skipped about, blowing his awful tune in a terrible serenade. She giggled at the cute sight he made, but wondered where his parents were. _Surely, he must have at least a governess_, she thought, _he can't be more than five or six years_.

"Oren!"….a female voice called desperately from the crowd. "…Oren!"

The boy's eyes lit up, instantly. "Tha's my Auntie 'Lissa!" he proclaimed. He ran towards the voice. "Auntie 'Lissa!" "Auntie 'Lissa!" he squealed. Leliana watched him go. Moments later, her eyes found a breathtaking young noble beauty staring at her with a fierce intensity. Her heart skipped a beat.

*******

"Auntie 'Lissa!" "Auntie 'Lissa!" Oren came running up to her, waving a small, silver object about wildly. Elissa took a knee as he ran toward her. She threw her arms around him, cradling the back of his head with one hand, the other arm secured tightly about his waist. She closed her eyes and waited a few moments for her heart to slow it's thunderous race of the last few minutes.

She finally relaxed her grip and looked him sternly in the eye. "Oren, don't you _ever_ run off like that again!"

Tears sprung up in the boy's eyes. He hadn't meant to make Auntie 'Lissa mad. He began to sob. "I-I sowwie, Auntie 'Lissa" he sniffed.

Auntie 'Lissa cringed at the genuine hurt on his face. She mentally kicked herself for sounding so much like her own mother. Her features softened. She wiped the tears off his cheeks.

"What have you got there, hon?"

"It's a 'lute!" he exclaimed and started to play it again.

Elissa covered her ears, and smiled at him , "A _flute_, Oren, it's a _flute_." Long had the Cousland family been trying to teach the five-year-old to speak properly. He had a terrible lisp. For example, instead of saying _sword_, instead he would say "sward", and at times he would eliminate some sounds altogether.

By the grace of the Maker, he stopped playing, taking the instrument out of his mouth. His eyebrows knit in concentration. His little lips bowed as he brought them together "F-th-ffff…-fah-lute!" he replied triumphantly. He smiled, knowing he had pleased his "favo-right auntie" as he so lovingly called her.

She laughed wholeheartedly. "Right, then, a fah-lute it is…but, sweetie, where did you get it?" she asked, running her fingers through his dark, wavy tresses.

"The pretty singing lady!" he piped up ,"She's rite o'er there," he said, pointing across the way. Elissa sighted down the line of his arm and spotted a gorgeous red-headed minstrel, absently strumming a lyre and singing a soft tune. Her strawberry mane hung down to her waist, her eyes were as blue as the clear Ferelden sky.

Elissa locked her gaze on the minstrel and the woman held her gaze. For just a moment, they stayed that way, staring. Elissa could feel her pulse thumping out an erratic circuit through her veins. The other woman stopped playing for a second, then caught herself and resumed.

Elissa's heart sped up as a bold thought crept into her mind. _If I just had a reason_, she thought, _an excuse_.

She glanced at her nephew. Her lips turned up in a smile, "Did you remember to say thank-you, like a good boy?"

"Um…no ma'am, " he mumbled, and hung his head in shame, "…sowwie."

Elissa stood, heart pounding in her chest. "Well come on, then." She took his tiny hand in her sweaty palm and walked across the small street.

*******

_Oh, Maker, be still my beating heart_, the young bard thought as the noblewoman approached her. Her short honey-colored hair blew softly in the breeze and she had to keep swiping it out of her face with her free hand. She was young. _Perhaps no older than I am_, Leliana thought. Leliana also noticed that nearly every male gaze turned her way as she walked by them. The noblewoman, however seemed entirely oblivious to the fact.

She was only a few paces away. Leliana felt her throat go dry. Her voice trailed off mid-song, but she kept strumming and just hummed along, pretending really hard to notice the…uh...sky, yes the sky.

"Good morn, miss," Elissa began. Leliana turned to face her.

"Hello, m'lady," Leliana gave a small polite curtsey.

Elissa bowed slightly, leaning her body forward at the waist, ducking her head just a little. It was a gesture mostly reserved for the male gender, but the young Cousland found it much more comfortable to her senses than a curtsey.

"I've come to apologize for my nephew…I am sorry if he bothered you… I would like to pay for this,"

Leliana could feel her nervousness rising as she heard the woman speak. There was a strong, authoritative quality to the noble's voice. Yes, she was definitely high-born. The young bard could tell in the way the other woman carried herself. It was in the set of her shoulders, the confidence with which she spoke, the intensity of her gaze. Her eyes burned with the light-green fire of a fine topaz, flecked with a few spots of brown, rimmed with gold, and tempered by sudden tenderness when she regarded her nephew.

"N-No. My Lady, no payment is necessary. It was a gift…and…he was no bother," the minstrel replied, her voice thick with a strange accent.

Elissa found herself enraptured by this woman's voice. Her accent was intriguing… She had never heard anything like it. She stared intently into those aquamarine eyes, steeling herself. She tried to think of something clever to say, something perhaps a little flirtatious, but not too vulgar. She couldn't think so easily, though, distracted as she was by the foreign woman's full, luscious lips.

_Maker! What are you thinking! _Elissa's head swam with a sudden realization that this was _wrong_! She quickly averted her eyes, hoping it would help quell the feeling of wanting to kiss those pretty, rose lips.

"See! She _gave_ it to me!" Oren cried out as he once again began to play his flute.

The women stared at each other a moment longer and it was Elissa who broke the silence first.

"Well, in that case, thank-you for entertaining him, and …uh…I apologize for his…_lack_ of talent," she said, her lips turning up in an embarrassed smile

Leliana giggled.

Elissa took a step closer to her and placed a large, heavy coin in her hand. "Tis all I have on me at the moment, miss, but you're welcome to it," she offered.

Where their hands touched, they felt a spark of electricity pass through them. Leliana insisted the noblewoman keep her money. She held Elissa's hand and covered it with her other hand. _Any excuse to remain touching?_, she chided herself in her mind. She gently nudged the noblewoman's hands back.

"No, m'lady, I cannot take this, it is far too much,"

Elissa, insisted as well, gently pushing Leliana's hands back with both of her own, "You need it more than I do,"

"Daddy!" Oren cried.

Elissa turned her head to see Fergus jogging towards them. "Lissie! There you are!," He huffed, out of breath. "You've got to hurry!" Fergus said, picking up Oren in his arms, "The women's matches start on the quarter-hour. They're calling for you in the lists."

Leliana's elation faltered. Was this man her husband? Wait, … she had apologized for her _nephew, _and the boy had cried "Daddy". That would mean he was her _brother_. She smiled as she looked at him. She could see the family resemblance now.

"Quarter-hour?" the noblewoman cried, "Andraste's hairy…" she caught herself just in time. Her nephew cocked his head in her direction. "uh…feet.." she finished feebly. "Right," she said to her brother, " I'll just be a moment, Fergus."

He nodded once, then walked away, as Oren climbed up to sit on his shoulders. Oren asked him, "Daddy…does An'raste _really_ have hairy feet?" Fergus's light chuckle echoed in the background.

Leliana's heart sped up a bit. She squeezed Elissa's hands. Elissa's attention returned to the lovely young minstrel before her. "Thank you for the coin, m'lady," the redhead gracefully acknowledged.

Elissa bowed her head just slightly, "You are welcome. Goodday, miss,"

"Goodday, my lady," Leliana called, after Elissa had politely taken her leave. She turned the coin over in her hand. It was large and heavy, solid gold. A whole sovereign. Her heart swelled for the unknown woman. A _generous nature is rare in this world…_ Her mother's words came to her, from some long forgotten memory.

"Leliana…" Marjolaine's voice whispered in her ear. Leliana jumped involuntarily. Had Marjolaine been watching this whole time? She felt a sudden pang of guilt twist her stomach into knots. How could she feel this way about a stranger? _Marjolaine_ was her lover, she chided herself.

The elder bard stared hard at Leliana, reading the truth from her face. Leliana blushed, she knew she could not hide her feelings from Marjolaine. Her dark eyes bored holes down into Leliana's soul and always found the truth. She pulled Leliana close so that the line of their bodies united as one from head to toe. Leliana's heart skipped. She could smell Marjolaine's perfume, a sweet, musky scent that smelled faintly of vanilla. She buried her face in Marjolaine's neck and kissed her there. Marjolaine held Leliana's head with one hand. She gently pulled her hair away from her ear, then gripped it tight, so Leliana could not move her head. Fear and surprise showed on the younger bard's face. She whispered in Leliana's ear in a low, husky voice. "You aim too high, too soon, my sweet…There is much you've yet to learn."

With that, she shoved Leliana against the wall of a shop and kissed her forcefully. Leliana felt Marjolaine's hand travel down the front of her dress, and then suddenly underneath it going up her thigh, and higher. _Here? In front of everyone? _Leliana was slightly bewildered, but she was helpless against Marjolaine's lust. So she let her lover pleasure her in the middle of the square, not caring who might look. Well, except… Leliana thought of the other woman. The one who had given her the coin. _What will she think if she sees this?_ Leliana broke away, "Marjolaine, stop." Marjolaine paused, with a questioning look on her face, then continued. Leliana broke away again, "No, no stop, the tourney. I am going to be late,"

*******

Dodge…dodge…

Sidestep…

Parry…

Parry…wait for it…

Feint…parry…STRIKE!

Her blade sailed through the air with surprising speed, and had she not pulled back at the last possible second, it would have separated the other woman's head from her shoulders. As it was, Fang gently hummed a mere fraction of an inch from bare flesh, vibrating ever so minutely, from the force of the sudden stop. It's blue edge glinted in the sun, blinding the woman who's life it threatened.

"Point!" the announcer called out. He raised a flag so the crowd could see. Everyone cheered. He placed the flag in a slotted hole. The matches were three points out of five. "The match is won! The victor is, the Lady Cousland!" The crowd cheered again.

_Cousland? _The old Grey Warden stroked his dark beard thoughtfully. The Grand Tourney was great place to find new recruits amongst the chevalier. The fact that it was held in Denerim this year was a plus. He had been watching the matches with only mild interest. The men's tourney didn't start until after the women's events. Now, however, his curiosity was piqued. He _knew_ Bryce Cousland. Had known him for years, in fact. And he knew of his son, Fergus, field commander of the Knights of Highever. Duncan made his way to the front of the crowd.

"Cousland advances to the finals!" the announcer proclaimed, holding her arm up as the victor for all to see. Duncan regarded the young woman. She was tall -almost as tall as her father and brother- with a slender build, not too thin. Her shoulders were broad for a woman, her arms well-muscled from swordplay. What Duncan could see of the rest of her body told of a specimen well suited for battle. Long legs, strong thighs, sturdy calves. Duncan knew why she had won the match. She was physically better suited for swordplay than her opponent. Skill of course had factored into it as well, that he could not deny, but even were their skills equal, the Cousland girl would still have won. Centuries of careful breeding had produced an impressive stock.

She smiled brightly and the crowd cheered once more. She was beautiful. Her skin light, but not pale, with a slight tan. She had the fine features of the Cousland line, and a slight sprinkle of freckles over the bridge of her nose and cheeks which made her appear younger than she was. _Sixteen? Seventeen? _Duncan wondered. Ah there was someone he _did_ know. "Fergus, my friend!" he called, waving.

Fergus made his way through the crowd, with the younger Cousland at his side. "Duncan!" he gave the man a swift hug, and patted him on the back, "How goes the battle?" Fergus asked, referring to the Grey Warden's forsworn duty to protect Ferelden, even in times of peace, such as now.

"All is well," Duncan replied. He nodded his head at the girl.

"Have you met my little sister?" Fergus asked.

"I do not believe I have," Duncan said, bowing.

"Elissa, this Duncan of the Grey Wardens."

Elissa politely curtsied-which was hard to do in leather armor- and Duncan could see from the expression on her face, that it pained her to do so, albeit not in a physical sense. She blushed fiercely. Her cheeks burned a deep, rosy red.

"A pleasure, Warden," she said, without much warmth. Duncan took no offense, he himself was not one for social graces much either, though it had been quite a while since he had been her age.

"Congratulations, my lady," Duncan offered.

"I believe you are a bit premature, Ser Warden," Elissa replied . "I've still to compete in the finals…in half an hour."

"Ah, well, Good Luck."

She snorted, "Luck has naught to do with it. It's been too easy." Duncan raised an eyebrow when she said this. He studied her face a moment. It was not cockiness, or posturing. There was no bravado in her voice. It was simply truth. "I'd hoped for a _real_ challenge…" she lamented, not holding back the sarcasm.

Duncan wondered to himself. Did she really believe the Tourney matches were _exhibitions_? Did she think her competitors were not _trying_? Did she honestly _not_ know just how superior her skills truly were? Duncan _knew_ the Couslands were modest in manner…but this, this confounded him. Surely Bryce would have thought to mention her skill to the Warden.

"Yes, well, in one more round, the Orlesians will crown a new champion!" Fergus cheerily proclaimed, "A Ferelden champion!" He nudged Elissa with his elbow, "Hopefully you won't win it too quickly, eh? The Orlesians may take it badly if you put their champion to shame."

*******

Elissa stretched languidly, looking much like a cat, until she felt her muscles loosen. She stretched her arms, her legs, her spine, with practiced movements, as Ser Gilmore had taught her. She took several deep breaths to oxygenate her blood, in preparation for the exertion she would soon face. When she turned to face her opponent, her jaw nearly dropped to the ground. _The minstrel!_ It was _her_, the red-headed minstrel!

She was now dressed in leather armor and her flowing crimson hair was put up into a braided bun, but, by the Maker, it was her! She smiled sweetly when she saw Elissa, then her eyes shifted nervously to an older, dark-haired woman standing at the head of the crowd. Elissa guessed quite correctly that this must be the minstrel's employer, her _master_. Cousland frowned subconsciously, the taste of the word foul on her tongue.

The rules of the match were announced. This round was to the most out of 10 points, that made six to the win. If they tied, the round would go to "sudden death", the first to score would be crowned champion. The match would be a round of unarmed combat, a clean technical strike to anywhere above the waist was a point.

"Combatants, take your positions!"

Leliana stood with her arms down at her sides, feet shoulder width apart, and waited for Elissa to move. At the announcer's call, Elissa reflexively turned the right side of her body away from the other woman, both hands up into fists near her head, her left foot out in front, the right one behind her at a perpendicular angle to her left foot. Leliana recognized this position. In the Antivan battle arts, it was known as _kokutsudachi_, the back stance, a defensive position.

_Ah, so she is right-handed_…Leliana thought to herself, knowing she would have to watch out for the power blows that would come from that side. She fell back into _nekoashidachi_, the extended cat stance, so her left side faced away from Elissa, her legs in mirror position to Elissa's but with her knees bent and her right heel up, weight balanced on mostly on her back foot. She placed her hands up, open, near her face. She almost felt guilty about telegraphing her intent so strongly, knowing it was just a trick.

_Watch out for the kick_, Elissa told herself. She blocked it easily, but did not even see, or have time to counter the left-handed jab to her ribs, that shortly followed.

_Damn the maker, she's quick!_ Elissa thought as the announcer called the point. She backed off a few paces and circled slowly to her left, trying to keep herself away from Leliana's good side. She did not know that the bard, was in fact, ambidextrous, and she was only feigning a left-handed advantage.

Elissa thought she saw an opening in the redhead's defense. She moved in . Leliana pivoted on the ball of her foot, whipping her opposite leg around. She caught the noble in her gut. Elissa backed away again, holding her stomach. She changed her stance to the other side, to psyche her opponent out. She needed time to think. She wasn't fast enough to beat her. She had grown accustomed to sparring with Fergus and Ser Gilmore. She was used to being the fast one herself. The thought had never occurred to her, that she might meet someone faster than herself.

They circled each other slowly as the match announcer called another point for the redhead. Elissa moved closer, stalking the other woman like a cat. Leliana made no move to put distance between them. She was not so easily intimidated. She blocked the pair of hook punches and fired off a combo of her own, catching the noble square in the jaw.

Elissa's head rocked back unexpectedly. Her jaw ached on the side she'd been hit. She tasted blood. Her eyes narrowed with sudden anger. _So, you want to play rough, then?_ she thought as she delivered a strong backfist to the redhead's temple.

The force of the blow sent the other woman reeling. She spun a full circle and landed face-down among the stones.

Distantly, Elissa heard the announcer call her point, but her immediate concern was for her opponent. She hadn't meant to hit her that hard. The sound of her own heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her heart dropped to her stomach. She paced back and forth, hoping the young woman was okay.

Leliana lay on the ground a moment, obviously dazed as she tried to shake the cobwebs from her head. She tried to get to her feet, only to stumble. She blinked hard forcing her eyes to focus. She steadied her palms on the ground.

"Get up! Get up, _NOW!_" The dark-haired woman knelt by the redhead's side. She said something to her that Elissa could not hear, but by the intonations in her voice, whatever it was, it sounded like a threat.

"Madame, you can't be in the ring while the match takes place. Now, please, out with you." The announcer bluntly and quickly ushered her away.

Leliana gathered her legs beneath her. She rose to her feet and turned to face Elissa. Marjolaine grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, whispering in her ear, before letting her go. Leliana faced Elissa, still a bit dazed. Her eyes darted fearfully toward Marjolaine.

Elissa Cousland frowned, her hands balled into fists so tight her fingernails drew blood from her palms. She trembled with anger.

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed, sorry if that last bit seems a bit choppy, action scenes are so not my forte. :/ please review if you would be so kind. :)

I hope to have a 2nd chapter up soon for Batgirl Beyond for those of you that are interested. I just wanted to be sure to finish this one and put it up, because this particular scene is what leads into chapter 4.


	4. Aveline and the Snake

Author's Note: Just a short one to tide you over, but you'll get something a whole lot nicer real soon, I promise! ;P Bioware owns everything, but you already knew that. Get ready to hate Marjolaine a whole lot more...

The Rose's Thorn

CH4- Aveline and the Snake

"You threw the match!" Fergus' voice held more incredulity than he let his eyes show. Elissa gazed at the the ground, she could not meet his eyes.

"You don't understand," she said softly.

"What I _understand_, is that you _let_ her win!" he insisted, placing a hand on her shoulder, " What I _don't_ understand, is why? You _had_ her, Lissie! You could have _crushed_ her!"

"And for what purpose, Fergus? To what end?" she asked, lifting her chin with audacious defiance. She had certainly known her actions would require some sort of explanation. She knew Fergus was not stupid and as good as she had made it look, Fergus simply did not believe what everyone else saw and accepted, that Elissa had lost to the red-head.

"To _win_…that is why we came here, isn't it?"

Elissa crossed her arms over chest and cocked a brow at her brother. "I thought we came here because it is my _birthday_. Am I not free to do as I wish on my own birthday?"

He stared at her in silence a moment, then said in defeat, "You've trained so long…I just thought you wanted to win, that's all."

She hugged him, and was about to tell him that there would be other tourneys, other matches, when the thought dawned on her. _Other matches…_

"Fergus…" she said, her head tilting to one side in thought, "put me in the lists…"

"But it's over, Lissie, you've lost." he confirmed, his face sullen.

A sly smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She pulled him close so she could whisper, "Yes, the _women's_ tourney is over…" she let her voice trail off and let him see the twinkle in her eyes.

Realization crept into his mind, and his eyes grew wider. "You're not… thinking of…" When he saw the triumphant look on her face, he knew with utter certainty that her suggestion was not in jest. "How are we going to pull this off?" he wondered aloud.

She beamed at him, smiling. "Strip off your armor, quick!"

He smiled right back, reading her thoughts. She was tall and broad-shouldered, his armor would fit her well, and it was cut for a man, that would help greatly with the illusion. Now they would just need a helmet.

*******

Leliana blended with the crowd. She had slipped away from Marjolaine a few moments ago. Irritation gnawed at her insides. A false victory was no victory, in her eyes, or Marjolaine's. She wanted to know why the noblewoman had let her win. She followed her through the immense horde of people, unnoticed. The woman's older brother yelled at her. Apparently, he was not fooled by her performance either.

Leliana could not hear what was said, but she could read their lips, a skill she had learned under Marjolaine's tutelage. Wonder filled the bard's mind when she realized what they were talking about.

"What should I call you?" the woman's brother called out as he headed towards the men's registry.

The woman seemed to think a moment, then replied with "…Edward."

"Family name?" the brother asked.

The noblewoman shrugged, then called out to him, "…make something up."

Leliana smiled. All bards knew the tale of Aveline, Knight of Orlais. She was born to a human family, but when her father saw she was a girl, instead of the boy he had wanted, she was left in the fields to die. A passing Dalish clan found her and raised her, training her with sword and bow, on horseback and foot. In those days, women were not allowed to compete in the Grand Tourney, so she competed, under a man's name, never removing her helmet. In the final match, her competitor tripped her because he was losing to her. She fell, and her helmet tumbled to the ground. The man was outraged and called the match a forfeit. Then he slit her throat. The prince soon after declared Aveline a Knight and passed law to allow women to compete.

Now, here was this noblewoman about to do the same. Leliana wondered if she herself knew the tale. She wondered if the woman would succeed. She recalled their match earlier. _She certainly has the strength…_ she admitted to herself.

Blue eyes silently followed the noblewoman as she approached the armory and bought a full-faced helm with the coin her brother had provided. The red-haired bard slipped as easily through the throngs of people as water flowing down a stream. She followed the woman next to the apothecary. She did not enter, lest the woman recognize her from earlier, but she followed once again when the woman emerged with a large fistful of gauze and the helm tucked under her arm.

The noblewoman and her brother met up and found a small alcove tucked between two buildings. Leliana could not see much as the nobleman stood protectively in front of his sister as if to shield her from prying eyes, which, Leliana supposed was quite appropriate since that was _exactly_ what she was doing…

From what she could gather, though, she knew he was helping his sister to bind down her bosom with the gauze. His armor was built for a man, and breasts would only get in the way. The noblewoman hurriedly threw a white tunic over herself and with her brother's help, put his plate armor on. Last came the helm.

Smiling widely, Leliana headed for the men's tournament arena. _Ser…"Edward" _, she thought to herself, giggling, _so handsome and valiant "he" is._

_This is going to be interesting_, Duncan thought to himself, as he watched the events between the Cousland siblings play out. He stepped up to the front of the crowd to get a better view of the upcoming match.

*******

She walked briskly, a newfound spring in her step, and a giddy joy in her heart. It didn't last long. Something was wrong. Someone was following her. She quickened her pace, trying to put distance between herself and her pursuer. The unknown assailant kept pace, then gained on her. Her heightened senses picked up the stench of sour Ferelden ale just moments before--

"Ah-ah-ah, not so fast, my dear…" Marjolaine's voice, heavily slurred, slithered over Leliana's skin, as the elder bard slipped an arm around Leliana's waist.

"Where are _you_ going in such a hurry, hmm?" she asked, pulling the young bard close and turning Leliana to face her.

"I-..I w-was just going to watch the men's sparring matches," Leliana explained. Hopefully, if Marjolaine was in the right mood, she would leave her alone.

Marjolaine smiled, her eyes bloodshot and half-lidded. She swayed almost imperceptibly. Any lay person would not have suspected anything was wrong with her, but Leliana could tell. She was drunk. More than that, she was _extremely_ drunk. Several words came to mind to describe her lover's current state of total and complete inebriation. In Orlais, they would say she was _sloshed_. The Antivans would say _pissed_. Leliana preferred the Ferelden terminology: _shit-faced_.

Marjolaine's brow furrowed. She shook her head from side to side. "No, you're not," she said. She closed a firm hand around Leliana's wrist. "You're coming with me,"

Leliana gave her a gentle push to keep her away. "Marjolaine, please, I don't want to go anywhere with you. You're _drunk_."

Marjolaine threw her head back and laughed out loud. She raised a brow at Leliana.

"Since when has it ever been about what _you_ want?" she mocked as she tightened her grip on Leliana's wrist and pulled her even closer.

Her dark eyes gleamed with a dangerous glint as she regarded her young lover. Leliana grimaced as Marjolaine's grip tightened further.

"I _own_ you, Leliana," she said with great satisfaction, "You are _mine_. You will do what _I _say, _when_ I say, and you will go where _I_ say, _when_ I say."

"Marjolaine, let go, you're _hurting _me!" Leliana pleaded as she struggled to break free.

"Say it!" Marjolaine sneered. "Say you're _mine_, and I'll let go."

Leliana hung her head in an exaggeration of defeat, she hoped the older bard would believe. "Yes, Marjolaine," she whispered, "I am yours."

"Good!" Marjolaine exclaimed, planting her lips on Leliana's in a rough kiss. For the past few weeks since Marjolaine had taken her as her lover, Leliana had learned that there were _many_ skills Marjolaine possessed. Especially in the ways of seduction. Regardless of her initial disgust at Marjolaine's ale-breath, Leliana soon submitted willingly to her skillful tongue and lips. Her body responded automatically. Kissing was a turn-on for Leliana, and Marjolaine's skill was beyond comparison.

Leliana's mind warred with her body. She _wanted_ to push Marjolaine away. Her _body _wanted to pull Marjolaine closer. An image flashed in her mind's eye.

Burning hazel eyes…

Leliana broke away as if she had been scalded by Marjolaine's touch.

"Mmm, I'm glad we understand each other, my sweet," Marjolaine purred drunkenly.

She grasped Marjolaine's face in her hands. She kissed her as hard as she could, pressing her body close. In her mind, she was not kissing Marjolaine.

{Burning hazel eyes, honey-colored hair, those broad, strong shoulders, adorable freckles on her cheeks…}

Leliana finally pulled away, leaving Marjolaine breathless and panting. She closed a hand around Marjolaine's throat, the other pulling her hair, jerking the taller woman down to speak into her ear.

"Understand this, _my sweet_," Leliana said in a tone that was both threatening and mocking, "you may own me, for the moment, but that moment will _not_ last forever."

Marjolaine blinked rapidly, sobering a little. Then she laughed, bringing a hand up to the one at her throat. She closed that hand around the pressure point in Leliana's forearm, forcing the younger bard to her knees.

"You're _good_, Leliana," Marjolaine mocked, "you _almost_ had me." she said, letting Leliana up.

Leliana narrowed her eyes and rubbed her arm. She doubted Marjolaine would remember what all had been said here, come the morrow. "But you won't have _me_ for long," she reminded her.

Marjolaine snapped her fingers, "Ah, yes!" she exclaimed, apparently forgetting already the events of the past few moments. "Speaking of our little _arrangement…_," she said.

She lifted, then jingled a small pouchful of coin, the purse Leliana had won, "…not bad for a single day's take…but still, merely a drop in the well for you," she chuckled. Her hand came down and found Leliana's plump bottom. She sqeezed it hard enough to leave a bruise. "You'll be mine for long enough," she confirmed.

She grabbed Leliana's wrist once more and pulled her along. "Come now, show me what you've learned. I want to see what you can do." Marjolaine led Leliana away from the main square, heading southeast, further into the depths of the city.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all so much for reviewing! I wasn't really sure where to head when I started writing this chaplet, but knowing you all hate Marj so much, I figured I'd get you to hate her even more, and as an added plus, they are now heading right where I want them to! ;) Yay! Writing fanfic is so much fun! Hee!

PS-feel free to leave a review, even if it points out mistakes, as this chaplet has not gone through beta yet. (le gasp!) Oh, and WTF? with the 15 doc limit???

Come on, did you _really_ think I'd let Cousland continue to brutalize our beloved little bard?

ohmygaw! for those of you that read it as "southwest" I'm so sorry, I'm sooo dyslexic sometimes! southEast! they're heading southEast! further into Denerim. and damnit I should know that! I live in the southeast for f's sake!


	5. A Cousland Man

Author's Note-- Another short one. Ah, but tommorow is saturday, my day off! Sweet candy right around the corner! Eh...beware of tantrums. :/

And it all belongs to Bioware...except for the song "A Cousland Man". Yeah, I know its way silly, but it's mine...alll mine...muahahahaha!

-The Rose's Thorn-

A Cousland Man

"Haha!" Fergus shouted. He threw his arms around his sister, hugging her fiercely. "I can't believe you did it, Lissie!" he exclaimed. She led him away from the crowd, where she could remove her helmet in privacy. Fergus took a deep breath and began to sing one of the many songs of praise to his ancestor's name.

"Oh, he's handsome, strong, may his years be long…A Cousland man is he"

"He rights the wrong, keeps Highever strong,….A Cousland man is he"

"Oh, never fear when danger be near, ….His blade protects the meek."

"A Cousland man is he, A Cousland man is he…" Fergus's strong baritone rose to a crescendo as he threw his arm around his little sister and pulled her downward tucking her head to his ribs while he ran his knuckles back and forth over the top of her head.

"Ow! Fergus! Stop it!" she cried, twisting out of his grasp. Fergus chuckled heartily. Elissa punched him lightly in the stomach.

"Ooof!," he huffed, as his wind left him.

"Getting a little soft in our old age, are we?" Elissa teased , nudging his ribs with her elbow.

"Aha!" a familiar voice cut through the hum of the crowd.

"There's my _daughter_!" The teyrna exclaimed, with much emphasis on the last word.

Elissa cringed, shrinking into Fergus's armor, wishing she could simply disappear. Fergus mouthed the words, _Good Luck, Lissie _before he ran off.

Elissa stared unbelievingly after him. Her eyes widened, pleading with her brother. _Don't leave me to her mercy!_

He just smiled at her, waving from the safety of the crowd.

The teyrna put an arm around Elissa's plated shoulder. "Dear Maker, child! I hope you don't think you're going to find a man in _that_!" she laughed, dragging her daughter to the tailor's shop.

*******

"I look ridiculous!" she wailed, stamping her foot on the ground.

"You look…lovely, my darling…" the teyrna insisted, a tear spilling from her eye.

Elissa pouted and snorted and huffed, looking like an overgrown toddler who could not get her way. A sour look spread across her face. The dress was frivolous and itchy. She scratched incessantly, to no avail. The sleeves and torso of the dress were skin tight and she could get no relief.

The teyrna slapped at her hands, "Stop that! You'll ruin the material!" she chastised.

Elissa lifted the skirts of the white dress and scratched her thighs, a pleasured look in her eyes. She scratched them nearly raw before settling the skirts back down. If there was one thing she hated in all the world, it was to itch.

"I don't see the point," Elissa reasoned, "Mother, I'll just outgrow this one like I have all the rest,"

"Oh I don't think you'll get that cha-- uh, I have a feeling you won't, darling." the teyrna replied, quickly covering her near slip.

She wasn't quick enough, though. Elissa's eyes narrowed. "What were you going to say?" she asked, suspiciously .

"Nothing, never mind. Now, try these on," her mother said, offering up a pair of equally ridiculous-looking shoes. They were as frivolous as the dress, the outer lined with the same material. The toes were pointed, the heels dramatically spiked.

Elissa grudgingly put them on, muttering under breath about nobles and their silly fashions.

Balance was the first lesson taught to any true warrior. She had long since mastered the feel of her own body, even through the awkward years of sudden, rapid growth.

Then again, she had never had to contend with _this._ She was perfectly fine with standing, feet flat on the ground. Now, however, she had to stand on the balls of her feet, heels high off the floor, in a perpetual tip-toe position. To make matters worse, the only support she had was a pair of exclamations stemming from the bottom of the shoes.

The teyrna beamed at her. "Just so lovely…" she sighed, wiping at her eyes.

Elissa Cousland just stood there.

"Well?" her mother asked, an expectant look on her face. "Aren't you going to _try_ them?"

"I have. They fit. Can we go now?"

"Walk," the teyrna instructed.

_Walk? I can barely stand in these things, and you want me to walk???_

The look must have shown on Elissa's face. "You will have to walk down the aisle, so you may as well start practicing now," Eleanor Cousland reasoned.

Elissa let out a begrudging sigh. She took a deep breath. _Balance…balance…balance… _she recited the word over and over in her mind, holding it close to her heart like a mantra.

She took a wobbling step forward. _Okay…_

Then the other. _This isn't so hard…_

Her body surged forward on the third try, the ground beneath her proclaiming it's victory over one so foolish as to walk in such manner of shoes. Her knees slammed into the wooden floor, tearing flesh away. Her palms smacked into the floor next as she caught herself. A sharp pain twinged in her left wrist. She gritted her teeth against the pain.

She rolled over onto her bottom and pulled the so-called shoes off of her feet. She glared at her mother. She stood up suddenly and pulled the dress up over her head. She stalked over to the teyrna and shoved the shoes and dress in her hands.

Without saying a word, she hurriedly dressed herself back into her comfortable breeches and tunic, and ah, her _boots_! She sighed with relief.

"If you're done attempting to kill me, I'll be with Fergus, somewhere far away from here," she said to her mother. Then she walked out.

Eleanor Cousland bereaved a weary sigh. " I was so close this time…" she said to the tailor.

*******

It took her several minutes to find him, but when she did, Elissa pummeled Fergus with several slaps on his arms, "Is this what you meant when you said you _convinced_ her? I could have broken my neck!" she cried.

Between slaps, Fergus laughed, "Ow!…Haha..ow…o-okay, Lissie… Hahaha…I'm--ow! Hah, sorry!"

She growled at him with narrow eyes. Fergus straightened when he saw the serious look in her eyes.

"Let me make it up to you then…Ser Edward." he teased.

"And how do you propose to do that?" she asked crossing her arms over her chest.

"Um…It's a…_surprise_. For your birthday," he smiled a sly smile.

Elissa recognized that smile. It was the one he had worn when he presented Fang to her. She nodded to him, she would bite. Fergus always had the best surprises, after all.

"Alright then," he said, "follow me."

Fergus led Elissa southeast, deeper into the city.

* * *

A/N: Riddle me this... what lies SE of the Market, in the fair city of Denerim...?


	6. Something in Your Mouth

Author's Note: Bioware owns it all. This chapter is inspired by the song "Something in Your Mouth" by Nickelback. This chap might be slightly AU but...

...hehehe... XD... oh, and as far as the lolli goes, think of a Charm's Blow Pop, cherry of course!

*Edit* 7-22-12- Edited for some minor content and removed song lyrics. Find the unaltered version at www_yourfanfiction_com.

* * *

The Rose's Thorn

Ch. 6: Something in your mouth (Revised)

She stood behind the curtain, watching the other woman perform on the small stage. She was…wild…to say the least. Leliana didn't know if she could outdo such a performance. Marjolaine had only recently taken her as a lover, and almost as soon had begun to prepare her for this night. Still, she had only had a few weeks of "training" for this.

Her heart fluttered in her chest, butterflies dancing in her stomach. She didn't want to go through with this, but she had no choice. Marjolaine had fed her, clothed her, housed her, trained her for years, and it had cost her dearly. And now, the time came to pay back her debt. The Pearl offered…_other_ services to their clientele, but the thought of doing _that_ for money, was…well, it turned her stomach to think of it. This option, she figured, was the lesser of two necessary evils. _Besides… _she thought, peeking a glance at where her mentor stood on the other side of the curtain, across the room, _…she is far to possessive of me to consider such a thing_.

She checked her costume one last time, to be sure the releases would work as Marjolaine had said. As the music died down, a bar wench approached the stage and helped the woman collect her money into a wooden bucket. "All, right men, lets hear it for Kandi Kisses!" the announcer said.

The room was suddenly alive with roaring hoots and hollers, and other lascivious comments. Movement out of the corner of her eye caught the young bard's attention. She glanced in that direction… and was stunned to see the noblewoman and her brother. _What in Andraste's name are __they__ doing here? _She wondered.

Her heart pounded furiously. If she had not wanted to do this earlier, she _most certainly_ did not want to do it now! She closed her eyes, clasping her hands together and said a silent prayer to the Maker that they would sit somewhere at the far side of the room and never even notice her. When she opened her eyes, they were sitting right at the edge of the stage. Perhaps the Maker would have mercy and a great chasm would open up and the earth would swallow her whole.

* * *

Elissa bumped into one of the low tables, "Ooohf!" she cried. "It's too dark in here, Fergus! I can't see a thing!"

"Give it a moment, sis, your eyes will adjust. Wait here." Fergus instructed. He walked over to the change counter and traded some of his sovereigns for silvers.

When he returned, her eyes had focused to what little light was available from the scant amount of candles ensconced about the room. The stage was the most well lit area. It was surrounded by chairs, many of them taken by men drinking ale. Two long brass poles stuck out of the floor -one at each end of the stage- and stretched up to the ceiling. The stage itself was more like a long, wooden walkway.

Fergus, of course, wanted to sit right up front. No surprise to Elissa, he always wanted to be where the action was. Problem was, she had no idea what action that would be. She glanced around and noticed that the only women in this place besides her were either serving wenches, or…they seemed to be the wives of some of the men, although in Ferelden it was not polite to display such affections in public…at least not to _that _extent…

"What'll ya have?" the voice demanded. Elissa turned toward the sound. Fergus was already taking care of the situation.

"We'll each have a pint of your finest brew," he said, handing her some silvers. The scantily-clad serving wench spared a glance at Elissa, then looked back to Fergus, questioningly. "She old enough to be here?" she asked him.

"It's her birthday, today," he nodded. The woman smirked as she nodded, then walked away to get their ales.

"…And now, gentlemen…I would like to introduce to you…" the man on stage took his time announcing the next performer. Elissa and Fergus just happened to come in , in-between performers.

The wench returned with their ale and Fergus tipped her well. He took a generous swig, and nodded for Elissa to do the same. She followed suit, wrinkling her nose at the sour taste. _Cripes, what is this…horsepiss? _She thought, shuddering as the bitter taste went down. The announcer continued, "performing on Denerim's stage for the first time, tonight…"

The men near the stage all seemed to tense up at the same time, gathering their coins, even Fergus. Elissa glanced around again and noticed some of the men paying the other women for their _affections_. She leaned into her brother, her eyes gone wide. "What kind of place is this, Fergus?" she asked. He didn't answer her. He only smiled, with a twinkle in his eyes.

the Siren of Val Royeaux…" the announcer made a motion with his hands like that of an hourglass.

the Temptress of Orlais…" he sneered, with a lecherous grin, wiggling his eyebrows.

the Goddess of Desire…" he clutched his heart at the word Goddess, then his groin at the word desire.

Elissa drank greedily from her mug of ale. She wasn't sure she liked where this was going…

"Gentlemen…I give you…Aphrodite!" he concluded, with a dramatic flourish of his hands.

With that, the band started up again. They played a kind of music Elissa had never heard before. It was harsh and loud. She wondered briefly how they could have coaxed those types of sounds from their lyres and lutes. _Hmm, must have modified them, somehow…_

When "Aphrodite" appeared, Elissa nearly spit her ale all over herself. It was the red-haired minstrel! Elissa coughed, almost choking on her ale, but managed to recover and swallowed it. Her eyes were wide as they traveled up the length of the woman's body.

"Aphrodite" wore a pair of glittering silver heels with straps of silver that criss-crossed around her legs all the way up her calves and stopped just under her knees. Creamy skin bared her thighs almost the entire length. The hem of the skin-hugging pink dress she wore was so short that it barely covered her womanly bits. The dress left little to the imagination, hugging tightly to her voluptuous curves. Her cleavage was bared by a slit in the neckline. Her lips were painted a deep, sexy red. Her hair put up into a bun, with a few stray locks coming loose from it in the front, hanging enticingly in her eyes. Dark eyeliner accentuated her blue eyes.

Her eyes! They held Elissa's for a moment, then both women blushed.

* * *

She tapped her foot, picking up the harsh rhythm easily. She took the sweet confection Marjolaine had insisted upon and put it in her mouth. She immediately needed to suck, because the candy began melting on her tongue. This caused her lips to purse. The small wooden handle of the lollipop stuck out from her mouth. The visual effect worked it's magic on her captive audience. She had not even begun to dance and already the men were throwing coin onto the stage for her. After a few introductory chords, the music changed, becoming more intense.

She stalked forward on her long legs, in time with the beat, putting more sway into her hips than was necessary. When she reached the end of the stage where Fergus sat with his sister, she pulled on the middle of the dress. The easy-off snaps came loose, baring her midsection to the crowd. Loud cheers and a few whistles and shouts of "hey baby". She waved the fabric in circles over her head for a few seconds. Then she turned around and threw it up into the air. It landed on a man's head. He gathered the fabric and smelled it, a lusty look coming over his face.

The next strip of fabric to go was the skirt, which she shimmied out of with practiced care. She stepped out of it with one foot, then kicked the bundled up fabric into the air with the other foot and caught it in her hand. She swayed her hips and banged her head, losing herself in the wild, primal music. She stalked the length of the stage, teasing the men as she walked by, letting her silk skirt play along their eager faces. She dropped the skirt into the last man's lap.

Now clad only in a bra, a small strip of fabric over the bra, and a lacy pink thong, she whirled again. Here she paused and stuck her long legs out to each side, first one, then the other, spreading them wide. She reached up with her hands and pulled her hair down, letting it fall freely down to just above her buttocks. She fell to her knees, her thighs spread wide. One hand went to the shaft of the lolli. With her other hand, she hooked her thumb under the thong strap on one side, pulling it down low, as she pumped her hips, teasing, and fucking her crowd, at least in their collective mind's eyes.

Her eyes met Elissa's. The woman was as much enthralled as the men were. A small, pleased smile turned the corner of Leliana's lips upward. She pulled the lolli almost the entire way out of her mouth, pursing her lips around it's roundness, her eyes never leaving the noblewoman's. Elissa Cousland blushed. More coin hit the stage from each man who was convinced that the lady "Aphrodite" was showing off for _his_ benefit alone.

She stood languidly, stretching her arms as far up the pole as she could. She grasped the pole and leapt up into the air. She entwined her legs around the pole and slid down, spinning upside down. She paused half-way down the pole, the small muscles in her arms straining as they held her body's weight. In a theatrical display of extreme athleticism, she spread both of her legs wide into a V shape and held it momentarily, before wrapping them around the pole and sliding the rest of the way down.

She dismounted gracefully, first catching herself with her hands on the floor. She held the handstand pose as she spread her legs into a full split. Then she rolled the move completely over, so she was sitting on the stage in a perfect full split. She put her legs together in front of her and crawled onto her hands and knees. She arched her back and leaned low in the front, putting her ass up in air.

She still had the lolli in her mouth. She slid her lithe body forward, stretching her back, bringing her ass slowly down. She bent her legs at the knees and alternated kicking them in the air while playing teasingly with the lolli in her mouth. She pulled her lips back in a sexy, coy smile, holding the lolli in her teeth, flicking it with her tongue.

She crawled across the floor to the end of the stage where Fergus and Lissie sat. Fergus smiled and flipped a coin up onto the stage. She turned her attention to him but kept a view on his sister from the corner of her eye. She undid her top and took it by both ends rubbing it along her stomach and briefly over her thighs before tossing it in his lap.

Elissa tried very hard not to look at her. She couldn't help how her eyes were drawn to this perfect representation of the female form. She greedily drunk in the sight of her, trying to burn the image into her brain. Her eyes scanned the woman from the ground up. Calves, thighs, ass, hips, stomach, breasts…very well-endowed breasts.

Fergus reached up and tucked a sovereign in the strap of her thong. She pulled it out, tossing it aside, then reached for him again. He stopped her with an outstretched palm. Then indicated his head toward his sister, and jerked a thumb in her direction.

Leliana smiled wide. She turned toward the woman and reached behind her back to undo her brazier. She felt a click as her breasts bounced a little and were suddenly free. She let the bra slide down, guided to the floor by the straps that teased and tickled her arms as it went.

Her eyes filled with complete fear, Elissa leaned back as far away from the woman as she could possibly get in her chair. It actually started to topple.

Thinking quick, Leliana threw the bra around the back of the noblewoman's head and caught the other end, pulling her to safety, and right into her breasts. She smiled, rubbing her soft warm breasts across the other woman's face. She pulled back just a little, one hand bringing the lolli in and out of her mouth a few times. She rubbed it across her lips, then leaned down, putting her face dangerously close to Elissa's. She teasingly rubbed the lolli over Elissa's lips, and when the stunned woman opened her lips for it, Leliana dashed in brushing her lips over the noblewoman's. The kiss was little more than frustrating for Elissa. She could hardly feel the other woman's tongue or lips with the lolli in between them, keeping the kiss barely chaste.

Leliana pulled away, sitting back on her heels, leaving her bra over Elissa's shoulder, and her lolli in the noblewoman's mouth. She smiled a coy smile, and stuck the end of her thumb between her teeth to replace the lolli. She stood, her eyes locked on Elissa's.

As the dancer swayed her hips, Elissa noticed a small, swirly tattoo on her left hip. It appeared to be Tevinter writing. She was sure of it. There were two letters: M.V. She wondered what it meant.

Leliana gyrated, rotating her hips as she slowly circled around, showing off her tight round ass for Elissa. She spread her legs apart and bent at the waist. She turned her face around to lock eyes with Elissa, and brought her hand down across one ass cheek with a loud smack! Elissa's eyes widened in shock. Leliana smiled at the woman's innocence.

When Leliana turned her attention away from the Couslands, Elissa in a state of near-complete shock, absently brought the brazier to her nose, inhaling the scent of Leliana as she stared after her.

Leliana slowly came to her knees once more and crawled across the floor again, knowing the sight she was giving to the noblewoman as she crawled away. She singled out an older-looking nobleman with salt-and-pepper colored hair, on the far side of the stage. He threw some coins onto the stage, then reached up as if to grab Leliana's breasts.

She quickly pulled out of range, giggling coyly. She put the tip of her thumb between her teeth again and smiled a sly smile. She chided him with the index finger of her opposite hand. Warily, she scooted closer. He kept his hands to himself this time.

She trailed her index finger down the side of his cheek, leading down along his jaw. She traced his lips with her thumb. She added just a bit of pressure, and he obediently let her in. He suckled suggestively on her thumb, while she suckled her other thumb.

The music all but stopped except for the man beating rhythmically on the drums. The men around the stage clapped in time with the drum beats. Leliana stood. That was her cue. She stepped away from the man and sauntered over to the pole.

She pulled her body up, entwining her legs around the pole. She ascended gracefully, in a motion that consisted of both climbing and spinning around the pole. When she reached the top, she pulled her legs up underneath her. She straightened her legs on either side of the pole, grasping it securely between her strong thighs. She let go with her hands and threw her head back. She hung suspended, her body holding a perfect diagonal angle to the pole.

She reached back and grasped the pole behind her head with both hands. She let go with her legs and straightened her body pulling them upward, holding a perfect upside down position. She spread her legs into a split, lengthwise, then returned them to pike position. Next she spread her legs into a full sidewise split.

She curled into a ball and let go of the pole completely. The crowd gasped in shock as her body plummeted to the stage. At the last possible second, she gripped the pole again, catching herself. Sighs of relief from her audience, then loud applause as the music abruptly ended and she dismounted.

She smiled and bowed as one of the bar wenches collected her coin into a bucket. She hurriedly sought the safety of the curtain. When the music had begun, it was as if another personality had taken over her mind completely. Now that it was all over, her nervous fear returned. She did not want to face the noblewoman.

She returned to the dressing area and found something suitable to cover up her breasts. The garment however was in no way designed to hide much, though, it was little more than a brazier. Loud rapid claps startled her. She glanced up. It was Marjolaine, of course. She was beaming with pride at her protégé.

"Ah, wonderful! Wonderful!" she laughed, clapping ecstatically. Despite herself, Leliana smiled a small smile. She flushed, her cheeks turning pink from sheepish modesty. Still, she felt glad she had made Marjolaine happy. There was a part of her that wanted to remain naïve to the truths she had learned of her mentor, so she often looked past Marjolaine's lies and her cruelty, to see only the parts she wanted to see. Like now. _She loves me…_

Marjolaine embraced her, nuzzling her face into the young bard's neck. She bit her unexpectedly. Leliana let out a surprised yelp. She felt the heat rising in her groin. She smiled knowingly at her well-experienced lover.

"Hmm, not yet, my dear," Marjolaine admonished, tapping a light finger against Leliana's nose. She looked into Leliana's eyes. "I want you to meet someone," she said, grasping Leliana's hand and leading her through the halls of the large building.

* * *

When the dancer was safely behind the curtain, the spell was suddenly broken. Elissa realized what had happened. The past few minutes replayed in her mind all too quickly. Her thoughts settled on one image, repeating it over and over.

_She could hardly feel the other woman's tongue or lips with the lolli in between them, keeping the kiss barely chaste._

She suddenly recalled the taste of the cherry lollipop. She pulled it out of her mouth, bewildered. She thought of the feel of the other woman's breasts, so soft and lovely and warm against her skin. Heat crept into her body. She stood abruptly, nearly toppling the chair over. She stumbled her way through the sea of tables in the dim light, heading for the exit.

* * *

A/N: The previous two chapters were supposed to go together and simply be titled "A Cousland Man". The next chappy, i.e. this one, was supposed to be titled "The Noble and The Pearl", basic idea, Fergus takes Lissie to the Noble to get drunk, then to the Pearl where they meet up with Leliana...

Gotta give props to my beta, Elmjuniper for suggesting that Leliana needs to "repay her debt" to Marjolaine, otherwise this chapter wouldn't be here. Be sure to check out her awesome stories Tread Carefully for Memories Claimed my Soul, (my personal fave ;) ) and To the Edge of the Earth.

Also gotta mention this vid that helped alot with this chapter. Check out "us pole dance championship 2009" on youtube. Those ladies are _TALENTED_, SRSLY! I couldn't even begin to wrap my mind around some of what they were doing, let alone try to describe it effectively, so I had Leliana do alot more floor work. :P


	7. Truths Revealed

Author's Note: WOW, a bit of looong one! enjoy! some truths will be revealed, and they may be hard to accept. Like the fact that Bioware owns all, I just twist it to my own desires! ;)

Glossary- *Patents: as in Patents of Nobility- what basically comes down to a birth certificate for royal or noble bloodlines.

Warning: You won't believe what happens! That's all I'm gonna say...

*Edit* 7-22-12- Warnings for adult themes. Possible triggers: prostitution, forced slavery/indentured service.

* * *

The Rose's Thorn

Ch.7 Truths Revealed

Fergus caught up to her in the foyer. He spun her around with a hand on her shoulder. "Lissie, wait! Where are you going?" he asked.

The look in her eyes should have told him, but in his drunken state, her abrupt departure had only confused him. He studied her face closely. Her skin had gone white, as if she had seen a Fade spirit. Her eyes were wide, displaying unabashed fear. She had a pleading look in her eyes, as if she expected some sort of helpful answer from him, to a question he couldn't remember.

She blinked rapidly, looking anywhere else but at him. "I-I …have to…_leave_," she insisted. Her cheeks flushed. Fergus smiled, knowingly.

"Oh…I get it," he said. "It's no problem. Lissie, if you need to…relieve some _tension_," he placed a great emphasis on that word, assuming that she knew what he was talking about. "There are rooms in the back…for _that_ sort of thing," he winked at her.

Poor Elissa had no idea what he was talking about. She had no idea what was going on. The only thing she was certain of was the fact that the Maker did not allow the things she was feeling. 'Twas sin. Scandal. It was…_wrong! _at least, according to the Chantry. She wondered briefly what her father would think, but oh, what did it all matter? Would her soul be damned to the Black City for all eternity? If only she could think properly. But her mind remained clouded over by the scent of cherries and the silken tickle of long, red hair…

"I'm not tense, Fergus, I - I just, need to _leave_," she said, frustrated.

He either hadn't heard her, or he chose to ignore her. Since he was indeed quite drunk, she supposed he hadn't heard her. He leaned in close to her continuing their conversation in a covert whisper. "You might even get to pick _her_, if she's not already "busy" with someone else,"

Fergus laughed at the wiggly lines her eyebrows made as they knit together in the middle . She looked genuinely confused. "Fergus, you're not making sense, of what do you speak?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest, cocking her head to one side.

The corner of his mouth twitched. His drunken eyes rolled back in his head. "Oh, come on, Lissie. I know about you. Everyone does. You think there aren't rumors in the court?"

"What rumors? Fergus, what are you talking about?" she sighed, exasperated at his unintentional evasions.

"Mom knows, you know. She's in denial, though, and Dad…well, I don't know about Dad, but Mom knows, and she's _not_ happy,"

"Oh Fergus! For Maker's sake! Say what you mean…I don't understand!" she pleaded.

He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from her own. "I've seen it. I've seen the way you look at the castle maids. The way you look at Rianne," he said, nodding to himself as if that confirmed everything.

"What does the way I look at my handmaid have anything to do with anything?" she asked defensively, totally unaware at what he was so obviously hinting at. She didn't like the tone of his voice, or the way his eyes sparkled with a knowledge about her that he wouldn't share out loud.

Fergus chuckled. His chuckle became a laugh, and his laugh became an outright guffaw. His sister did not see the hilarity. If one could merely look at someone and cause them death or pain, Fergus would definitely _NOT_ be laughing right now. His laughter died away slowly. He wiped at the corners of his eyes.

"It's got everything do with it," he acknowledged, "Don't you see?"

Her stern look was unyielding. Her lips were set in a thin line.

"Okay, okay," he said, yielding. He put his hands up palms facing her in a gesture of surrender. "Lissie, think about this: have you ever…_taken_ to a suitor? Anyone? Even, oh, I don't know…even Damien?"

"D-Damien?" she echoed, " of course not, Fergus! He's j-…we're just _friends_,"

Fergus' knowing smile grew wider as he nodded his head. "Uh, huh, '_just friends'_. As I thought. And you have ever wondered _why_, Lissie?"

"Because…he's kind to me?" she said slowly, raising an brow, uncertain where Fergus was leading the conversation.

Fergus rolled his eyes imperceptibly. How could she be so _dense_? Maybe the rumors weren't true…

Fergus posed in a mockery of thoughtful contemplation, one arm folded over his chest, the other hand stroked his beard. "Kind, yes, kind is good," he said, nodding, " But Damien is also _handsome_, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, yes, I suppose he is…but I never really thought about it," she shrugged.

"And what of his _sister_? Is she not beautiful?" Fergus asked her, keeping his eyes on her reaction.

"Of _course_ she is! She has the prettiest brown eyes I've ever seen, like the bluffs that overlook the ocean, and her hair is dark as the midnight sky…" her voice trailed off as it clicked over in her mind and she finally caught up with him. Her eyes widened. She brought her hand to her mouth, as a small gasp escaped. Color burned her cheeks. She suddenly _knew_ why boys had never held an interest for her.

Fergus smirked a little half-smile. He waved his hand with a small flourish and raised a brow at her. "And there you have it, My Lady,"

"Come on, let's go back inside," he insisted, putting an arm around her, leading her down the hall.

"After all, it _is_ your birthday, and are you not free to do as you wish on your own _birthday_?" he laughed, mocking her words from earlier, "I mean, you might as well enjoy your last night of freedom, cause when we get back to High-"

Elissa stopped cold, she pulled away from him. She blinked all too rapidly. "What did you just say?" she demanded of him, her voice a shocked whisper.

"I- er…um…have I not told you?" he said, and actually managed to look apologetic. His gaze fell. He chewed his bottom lip, nervously. His eyes darted about the room. He had been dreading this conversation. The teyrna had insisted that he be the one to tell her, since they were so close. She insisted Elissa would take the news better, coming from him. "Um, you see…Lissie, mom knows. She _knows_, and she, well, she said that if you won't marry Howe and you won't marry anyone else…"

Elissa's heart sped up, the blood rushing to her ears. She had to force herself to look at his mouth and read his lips, because his voice suddenly sounded as if he were miles away. Everything seemed to slow down, surrounded in a hazy fog. At the same time, her pulse raced in her veins, far too quick.

"What? I-I didn't hear you. Say it again" she asked.

" I said that Mom's decided to choose a suitor for you,"

Elissa gulped audibly. Her eyes looked as though they could fall out of their sockets at any moment. She tried to calm her heart, but it betrayed her, beating faster. "Who?" she asked, though it wouldn't have mattered for she told herself she really didn't wish to know.

"The Bann of Rainesfere."

"So that's it then? I'm to marry a man I don't even know, someone I've never even met…or marry the one man I hate more than anything in all the world?"

"He's a good man, Lissie," Fergus said, trying to sound reassuring. "Dad says he's uncle to the King, and he's got a few good years left on him. He's only thirty-four."

"Is this mother's game?", she asked, annoyed, "To marry me to a man I don't even know, who's _twice_ my age… all for the sake of "a good alliance"?" she demanded.

She broke into sobs. Fergus cradled her in his arms. "Oh, Ferg, what am I going to do?" she cried, resting her head against his chest. He stroked her hair in a soothing manner.

"Well, first," he said, pushing her away from him, forcing her to look at him, "you're going to stop crying,"

She nodded, swallowing back her self-pity. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands. Blood and damnation, Fergus was right. She was acting like a child.

"Now, you're going to follow me," he said, putting his arm back around her shoulders as he led her to the back rooms, "I've got an idea how to take your mind off of things…for a little while, at least."

***MEANWHILE***

"Marjolaine? Marjolaine Varimour? What brings you here after all these years?" The gray-haired proprietress exclaimed, throwing her arms around the older bard.

"Sangaa, it's so good to see you again!" Marjolaine squealed with obvious delight. She pulled back from the hug and gave the woman an air-kiss over each cheek, as was polite Orlesian custom. "Ah, but where are my manners?"

"This," she said, motioning toward the young redhead who had watched the entire exchange just a bit awkwardly, "…is Leliana. My brightest _student_."

"You always did have an eye for the _pretty_ ones…" Sangaa acknowledged, eyeing Leliana up and down. She looked the younger bard over, scanning every inch of her body in a way that made Leliana uncomfortable.

"Hmm," Sangaa murmured thoughtfully. She paced around the redhead slowly, gazing appreciatively at every curve and sinew of her lithe form. She stopped in front of Leliana and took a step closer, reaching up to run a hand through her hair. "_Nice_," she said, in regard to the silken locks, throwing her gaze back to Marjolaine.

Marjolaine smiled at Sangaa, "She is…well-cared for."

Sangaa turned her head back to Leliana, nodding absently. "What color are the nipples?" she asked Marjolaine directly, clearly disregarding Leliana entirely.

"I-wh-wh…what?" Leliana stammered, mouth hanging agape.

Marjolaine gave Sangaa a nod and a gesture. _See for yourself._

Sangaa reached up toward her breasts and Leliana backed away. Sangaa and Marjolaine shared a laugh.

"Oh, don't be _shy_, pet, we're all women here," Sangaa said. She stepped closer and pulled down on the cups of Leliana's brazier, revealing nipples of the palest pink, like gently blooming spring roses. Sangaa leaned backward to take in the view of Leliana from the breasts up.

She spoke to Marjolaine, as she rubbed a thumb over Leliana's lips. "I can charge a lot more than _forty_ for this one," she said, using her fingers to open Leliana's mouth and double-check that she had all of her teeth.

"The regular rate will do, and you may keep any further earnings for yourself," Marjolaine said. Sangaa turned, her brow arching inquisitively. Marjolaine motioned with her head. Sangaa walked over to her. They spoke in low tones, but Leliana was not paying attention. She could scarce believe what she had just heard.

Were they truly talking about what she thought they were talking about? Was Marjolaine going to sell her to this lady pimp, this bordello mistress? Her heart raced, blood rushing quickly to her head to the point that all she could hear was the hammering beat of her own pulse.

"Oh, I see," Sangaa murmured, "very well." She nodded again at Marjolaine. Leliana glanced up, apparently a deal had been made. She was worried. She should have paid attention. She wished she hadn't been so distracted, but it was her future, her _life_ they were talking about, as if she had no say at all in the matter.

"Papers?" Sangaa asked.

Marjolaine reached into an unseen pocket of her dress and produced a faded parchment. She handed it eagerly to Sangaa. Sangaa opened it and looked it over carefully. She was silent a long moment. She glanced at Leliana.

"What is your surname?"

Leliana was taken aback by the sudden unexpected question. "I-er..I haven't one. My mother and father are both gone."

"But is says here that you…belonged to a Lady…Cecile, of Orlais?" Sangaa asked.

"Oh, yes," Leliana said, blushing at her faux pas, "she cared for me, after my mother died."

"So you are…" Sangaa looked the parchment over again, "…Leliana deCecile?"

"Yes, that's right," Leliana nodded proudly. Sangaa eyed her cautiously.

"Oh, but-" Leliana corrected, "Marjolaine…bought me," she blushed, "at auction…after Lady Cecile…after she…"

"Ah, yes, so it says here," Sangaa confirmed, eyeing the parchment again.

"…but Marjolaine never adopted me…not _legally_, there's so much that goes into the process, and we never saw the point of making it official…" Leliana's voice trailed off, realizing that perhaps she had explained too much.

"Well," Sangaa said, glancing at Marjolaine, "Everything seems to be in order."

She gestured with her hand toward one of the few ladies in the sitting room who was actually fully clothed. "Scribe…the forms." she ordered. The young lady bowed and retrieved the parchments and a quill from a nearby desk. She approached Sangaa and handed them over.

Sangaa handed the parchments and quill to Marjolaine. Marjolaine carefully scanned the documents, looking them over for a long moment. Finally, she leaned over the desk, laying the parchments down and dipped the quill into the inkpot. With her quickly scribbled signature, Leliana's fate was nearly sealed.

"And now you, dear" Sangaa said, motioning to Leliana. Leliana absently stepped forward and signed her name with a flowery cursive, near the X that Sangaa indicated with her finger.

Marjolaine came to her and hugged her. She gave the bewildered young bard a quick air-kiss over each cheek, "Au revoir," she said, and turned away.

Leliana snapped to, "Huh? Wait! Marjolaine, where are you going?"

Marjolaine turned around to face her. "Why…it is done, just as you wished. After all, were you not eager to repay my…_kindness_?"

"But- I..I…"

"You will live here. You will work here. For a period of one year, exactly. Sangaa will hold a percentage of your earnings to pay the debt, the other percentage is hers to feed, clothe and keep you with. If, at the end of the year, you have earned enough, I will set you free. You can choose after that to stay with me…or not. It will be _your_ choice."

Leliana stood there silently, stunned by Marjolaine's words.

"_However_," Marjolaine continued, "if you have not earned enough within that year, you will still belong to me. Do you understand?"

Leliana nodded, a tear falling down her cheek, as Marjolaine turned to leave. "Ah, yes, one more thing," she said, "From time to time, I may require your bardic talents. You will act as my agent here in Ferelden. Sangaa will personally handle all of our correspondences."

Marjolaine finally noticed Leliana's distress. "Ah, do not fret, my petite," she cooed, laying a gentle kiss on Leliana's forehead, "We will see each other again." She kissed Leliana chastely on the lips. Then she took her leave, bowing once to Sangaa.

Sangaa clapped her hands abruptly, twice in rapid succession. Leliana startled, snapping to attention, but quickly realized it was not for her. One of the other employees, a full-figured brunette with stark blue eyes, summoned to Sangaa's beckon. She bowed her head to her mistress.

"Rachel, get her ready, she starts tonight. Janine has fallen ill, and we've a line of customers waiting outside. Leliana will take her place among the redheads." Sangaa instructed.

Rachel bowed again, "Yes, mistress Sangaa," she said softly. She quickly led Leliana through a small door at the back of the sitting room. They walked down a short hallway and reached the door at the end. Rachel opened the door and led the bard inside. The room was small and dark. There was a large armoire which hung open to reveal piles upon piles of clothes, carelessly cluttered about. Below the armoire, a haphazard sea of shoes, some of them were very pretty, Leliana noted absently.

"Rachel?…" Leliana began, addressing the stranger. Rachel turned her head back to look at the newcomer.

"I-…I can't do this…what if I become pregnant?" she asked worriedly.

Rachel laughed and shook her head. "That doesn't happen here," she said, at Leliana's raised brows, she explained with a joke, "It's bad for business." She reached into a secret compartment on one of the doors of the armoire. She handed Lelina a dark, rough bit of …something. Leliana carefully brought it to her nose. It smelled like a tree, and also, faintly of mint.

Rachel laughed at Leliana's cluelessness. "Chastebark," she said, "From the chastetree,"

"Eat it," Rachel instructed.

"I-I…I don't want to…" Leliana insisted.

"Oh, but you _must_," Rachel said, her eyes wide, "you belong to Sangaa now."

Leliana swallowed a knot in her throat. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, with the sudden realization that she already missed Marjolaine. _Better the devil you know… _she thought with a bitter laugh. She sniffed, blinking the tears from her eyes and wiping them away before they could overwhelm her.

"Is she…a good mistress?" Leliana asked.

Rachel nodded. "She would never beat us if that's what you mean…it…_devalues _the commodity." Rachel came closer to the new girl, she sighed, taking Leliana's hand in her own and bringing it up to the bard's lips. "Eat it," she reiterated. Rachel patted Leliana's shoulder as she nibbled at the Chastebark. "It will be alright, I promise," she said, smiling.

Leliana smiled back. Maybe it would be alright. Perhaps she had made a friend already.

"Now let's get ready," Rachel said, sauntering over to the armoire. She bent down and picked up a pair of exquisite pumps. "I think these would look _fabulous_ with your hair!" she commented, to which Leliana beamed and cooed, "Ooh, those are just _lovely_, may I?" Both girls giggled and fawned over getting each other ready.

* * *

When they returned to the sitting room, Leliana was ushered over to a line of redheads, both men and women, she noticed. Sangaa had a wide selection of 'employees', blondes, brunettes, redheads, human, elvish, and even a few dwarves.

A hideous lech of a fat, drunken noble eyed the employees carefully. He disregarded the left side of the room entirely-the blondes and brunettes as it were. He made his way over to the line of redheads. Leliana closed her eyes and silently prayed to the Maker. She was not conceited, she just knew that she was prettier than most of the others. _Please__ don't let him choose me… _Oh, Maker! Why had she let Rachel dress her up so pretty?

"What about _this_ one? What can _she_ do?" His gruff voice was too close for comfort. Leliana opened her eyes much to her dread. He was standing before her, rubbing a hand over himself _Oh, Maker, nonono!_ She steeled her nerves not to flinch when he brought a greasy hand up and touched her arm. It reviled her, everything about him repulsed her. She wished he would go away, or choose someone else, lest the bile in her throat expel uncontrollably.

"Ser, all of our employees are professionals," Sangaa explained with great patience, "They are all masters of their trade, but that particular one…is Orlesian, a rare exotic beauty, eh?"

"Orlesian, huh? Aint they the ones what tried to enslave us?" he said, anger rising in his voice.

_Maker preserve me…_ she thought, closing her eyes.

"What about the knife-ear?" the offender asked in a drunken slur, his voice farther away, "Oh-ho! You're a big boy, ain't ya?"

Leliana dared not open her eyes. If she did, he might turn his attention back to her. Her fears were confirmed with his next words.

"How about the _both_ of them…together?" he laughed a lascivious laugh. Leliana felt the bile rising in her throat. She trembled with fear. _Oh, please, no! He's sooo gross!_ She peeked her eyes open, and was relived to see that coin had not yet exchanged hands. The transaction was not complete, he was still trying to decide. He had moved to the far end of the line, examining a woman a head shorter than Leliana.

The doors suddenly burst open and a tall dark-haired man shoved his way through, dragging a slightly shorter blonde woman behind him.

"SANGAA!" Fergus shouted, slapping a large handful of coins down on the desk and drumming the desk with this hands. He laughed and hugged her. One of the bouncers edged near, but Sangaa held him away with a hand. Although she hadn't seen him in a few years, she knew he was a good tipper. She remembered him, of course, as she remembered all her customers. She might be in middle age, but her mind was still as sharp as a steel trap.

"My Lord Cousland, it has been many years since you've required our services," she said politically.

Fergus shrugged. Elissa had given him a funny look when the gray-haired woman had called her brother by name. "What can I say, Sangaa, I'm a married man, now," he offered.

"Well, many blessings, my lord," Sangaa said, bowing politely. Her brows furrowed as she noticed the girl hiding behind him.

"And who is this little lovely?" she asked, voice laden with curiosity.

Fergus grabbed Elissa by the neck with his arm and gave her noogies again, "This is my little brother, Edward!" He laughed, as Elissa struggled and finally broke free. She stared daggers at him, while trying to smooth her hair down with her hands. Sangaa arched inquisitive brows.

Fergus laughed again, "I jest, I jest,…she's my sister."

"Hmph," Sangaa regarded. She stared back at Fergus, "She old enough?"

Fergus rolled his eyes, "Of course, Sangaa," he said.

"Then you won't mind if I ask to see her Patents?" *

Fergus sighed. He reached into his trousers pocket and produced the parchment which proved the live birth and very existence of his sister, along with other important information such as her noble lineage on both sides for several generations.

"We just have to be sure, my lord," Sangaa explained as she scanned the document. She muttered to herself, mumbling the names…adien-sabelle…"

She folded the patents and handed it back to Fergus. She eyed Elissa, "And that would be you I suppose?"

Elissa couldn't answer her, she merely hid behind Fergus and blushed as hard as she possibly could. Maybe she could die from blushing. That would certainly make things better. When he had told her the real reason her mother had let her come to Denerim, so she could fit her for a _wedding dress, _and after hearing about the mandatory arranged marriage, with her choice of either Thomas Howe, or this mysterious Bann Teagan, uncle to the King, Elissa had thought the night could not possibly have gotten worse.

She had been wrong. Instinct screamed into her thick skull the truth of _why_ those people were all lined-up before her, scantily-clad, and _why_ Fergus had slapped a handful of coin on the desk, and _why _this Sangaa woman had asked to see her patents. She wanted to crawl under a rock, but there were none here, so she settled for cowering behind her brother, using his body to shield her from the truths that lay bare before her. If she didn't look at them, perhaps they would go away.

"What would you require this evening, my lord?" Sangaa asked Fergus.

He bent down, his voice low, a conspiratorial tone. "Well,… _I _will have a pint of your finest brew, and keep them coming. And my sister," he said grasping her hand and pulling her out from behind him, "…would like to see the wenches…and only the _prettiest _ones, Sangaa,"

"Of course, my lord," she said to Fergus, then "We have a fine selection, my lady," she said finally addressing Elissa. She gestured to the lines of nearly nude men and women. "We have anything you want, blondes…brunettes…red-"

It was a calculated risk but Leliana took it, seeing it as her only chance to avoid a more gruesome fate, and if she succeeded, her reward would be…pleasant…to say the least.

"Ahem!…" she coughed loudly making quite a ruckus of clearing her throat. The dark-haired nobleman cocked his head in her direction.

"Look! There she is! That's her! The dancer!" Fergus cried, pointing at Leliana.

"We've chosen, Sangaa! We'll take her, the long-haired ginger," Fergus shouted. He practically shoved Elissa in her direction. He had to forcefully push her, because with all her might, she was backpedaling, pushing backward against him. She shook her head vehemently from side to side.

Leliana smiled eagerly, biting her lower lip in anticipation.

Sangaa ignored the siblings' antics, bragging on her charge. "Ah, that there is a rare exotic beauty…she's Orlesian."

"Oi-…wha?" the greasy noble muttered, surprised and angry, from the opposite side of the line.

Leliana reached forward, grasping Elissa's wrist, taking her from Fergus.

"That's a sovereign by the hour, my lord," Sangaa said, as Leliana led Elissa to the back rooms.

Fergus grabbed a gold coin from his pile on the desk. He flicked it with his thumb. Sangaa caught it in the air. She smiled, "Still got it, my lord."

Fergus nodded, "Just keep the ale flowing, good lady," he said. Then to Elissa who was almost gone from sight, "Our carriage doesn't leave till dawn! Happy birthday!" he laughed.

* * *

Hearts beat wildly in synchronous fury. They sat on the bed, not moving. Leliana's heart beat with anticipation. Elissa's heart beat with fear.

_Don't be such a pervert, Elissa! Mother Mallol says it's wrong! Stop staring at her breasts, for Maker's sake!_

Elissa Cousland was so busy warring with her own emotions that she startled when the red-haired venus spoke.

"If we are going to do this, you may want to remove your garments, first. It might make things…easier, no?"

"I…uh.." with a deep, crimson blush were the only words she could manage to force from her throat.

Leliana reached a hand out, but the girl backed away as if she had been stung. She stood suddenly and started to put distance between their bodies.

"Watch out!," Leliana warned.

Elissa heeded her warning and turned around, quickly, but it was too late, her sheer momentum and the centrifugal force from turning suddenly, sent her crashing to the ground, the flimsy nightstand crumbling to bits beneath her weight.

She wound up in the center of a grand mess of wooden shards. A sharp knock on the door and the bouncer's gruff voice from outside. "Hey, you break it, you bought it!"

Elissa glanced at Leliana from her position on the floor. Her eyes were wide. Leliana giggled, a knowing smile crossing her face. "You're going to have quite the _reputation_, if this keeps up!" She winked at the noblewoman. Elissa just blinked up at her, the joke obviously had gone way over her head.

Leliana went to help her up. She took her hand and pulled the girl to her feet. Their eyes met, inches apart. Tension reverberated all around them. Boldly, Leliana stretched up on her toes, her hand going to the back of Elissa's head, pulling her down into a kiss.

Sweet bliss.

They explored each other fully, for the first time. Leliana, a brazen thief, making away with the noble's heart and innocence. Elissa, tentative at first, using her tongue awkwardly, as though she had never done this. Leliana moaned softly into the noble's mouth, anticipation mounting within her body, mingling with the exhilarating sensation of the other woman's lips, her tongue, her teeth. Leliana pressed herself harder into the noblewoman, deepening the kiss, accelerating their passion and her desire until she thought she might bring herself.

Elissa broke the kiss abruptly and shoved Leliana away. "No!" she shouted, "I can't do this!" she shook her head. "For the good of Highever, I _can't_ do this!" she added. Her eyes had a faraway look to them, tinged with fear, she did not look at Leliana, but rather, looked past her, as if not truly seeing her.

Leliana by all rights was truly puzzled. When the noblewoman had broken away, she had thought it was from shyness. She thought that perhaps she had come on too strong. But then she began to utter nonsense. Her eyes held a glassy look, a hint of fear trembling at the edges.

"That snake of a man, Arl Howe is after our lands…he'd stop at nothing to lay claim to them, I'm sure of it. I have no choice, you see. The only way to keep him in check is with the promise of a marriage to his eldest son." The noblewoman muttered to herself in a low tone as she paced a small circle within the room, glancing up at Leliana occasionally as if explaining herself to the young bard. "Or possibly this Bann Teagan, whom I know absolutely nothing of and is twice my age, but is also uncle to Cailan, the King."

Leliana was worried, concerned about the noblewoman's mental state at the moment. She only wanted to try to soothe her. She took a step forward and reached out her hand. The moment she moved, the noble seemed to snap back to reality. She stared at Leliana. Her eyes widened further. She shook her head. She drew back from the bard's grasp as if it were poison. "I can't do this," she breathed.

Elissa shoved her way through the door and jogged down the winding hall. Her only thought, _I need to get out of here!_

The sudden realization of something that had lay dormant for a lifetime within her, added to the forced confrontation of that inner demon, and to top it all off, her freedom, her choice, stolen by either Howe or Teagan, though truthfully she knew the real culprit was her own mother.

It was all too much for her.

She forced open the final door, and there he sat, in a drunken stupor. He was the cause of all this. If he had not taken her here, everything would be normal as it had always been. She stalked over to him and came within an inch of giving him a piece of her mind, but he spoke first and his words both shocked and incensed her.

"Over so soon? What's wrong with you, Lissie? I mean, she was…Wow. If you can't-"

He didn't get any further. Her head cocked slowly, her brows knitting their way down into the center of her forehead as if in slow motion. Her fist, however, was anything but as it connected with his jaw. He reeled backward, and fell back into the chair. She stormed off, out into the squalid back streets of Denerim.

Dark clouds rolled over the city above. Distant thunder promised its intent with a violent yawn. She reached the stables in no time and wasted only a few moments to saddle her steed. Her anger had cooled only slightly, but enough to allow her to think a bit. It was a five day ride to Highever, she would only hurt herself if she rode bareback.

Leliana stared blankly after the noblewoman left. There was an ache in her heart that mirrored the moment Marjolaine had left her earlier. Call it love, impetuous youth, brash selfishness, call it whatever you like for in the end, what's in a name?

_I can't let her leave!_

Leliana struggled to dress herself decently. She wasted precious moments to find a pair of shoes she could run in, but in the end, when there were none, she ran out of the Pearl, barefoot.

She had no idea where the woman had gone, only that she had gone without her brother. She had passed him in the sitting room, nursing what would eventually become a very nasty bruise. She glanced around frantically, and seeing no sign of the noblewoman, she scaled the first thatched house she came to, climbing up the side and over the top with relative ease. She sent up a silent prayer that her shortcut would allow her she to catch her in time. For this one moment in her sad, short life, Leliana dared to hope for a future.

She was perhaps several hundred yards away from Denerim's main gate. A proud noble figure sat atop a handsome, white thoroughbred stallion. Leliana used her exceptional focus of sight. The figure was a woman, with short, honey-blonde hair.

She knew she could not outpace a horse, by any stretch of her imagination. Her legs pounded the earth. As fast as she could set them down, they were alight again. She was fast. She reached gate sooner than she thought. The guards saw her coming and opened the gate again before it had fully shut. The noblewoman and her white horse were far off into the distance.

Leliana screamed into the night, "WAIT! PLEASE! I-"

Her voice broke off. Her heart sank. "I don't even know your name," she whispered, a tear trailing down her face. Thunder crackled above. Rain made its presence known with a light drizzle.

Leliana watched the white figure of the horse as it slowly vanished. The drizzle of rain soon became a downpour, soaking her to the bone. She stood silently staring off in the direction the horse had fled until the cold chilled her to the bone.

* * *

There, that's better, can't believe i forgot that! ;)

A/N: I know, huh! quite a bit angsty, but that makes the fluff all the sweeter in the end. XD So much thanks to all of you who read, review and fave my stories, It makes writing all the more rewarding, not that writing isn't its own reward, and for those of you wondering, I'm not sure if I mentioned this already, but everything happening now, (18yo Elissa & Leli) is about 4 to 5 years before the game events. I wouldn't guess Oren to be older than ten in-game. Even though Connor seems to be physically smaller than Oren, he seems more mature, I'd guess Connor around 12 and Oren's a tall nine or ten year old. *shrugs*

so, until next chappy!

Take care!

~E.C.


	8. Rianne

Author's note: Bioware owns all you recognize, Rianne and Lightning are mine.

Rianne. I know, it looks like Ryann, right? but it rhymes with Shianni. and I'm only gonna say this, because I'm obligated: Reader beware, femslash ahead! (female/female sexual or romantic content) for those who don't know the terminology. Enjoy!

*Edit* 7-22-12- Edited. Find the full version at www_yourfanfiction_com.

* * *

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch.8 Rianne (Revised)

She mounted her horse, Lightning, aptly named for his pure white coat and mane. He was every bit the thoroughbred, and now, she required his speed. Without so much as a glance back toward Denerim, she snapped his reigns and took off for Highever. She raced him as fast as his breeding would allow, the anger gripping her heart. Her right hand still hurt from the force of the punch she had landed on her brother's jaw. _Of all the Maker-forsaken things to say!_

For five days she rode ever onward, with barely a scant rest period-_for the horse_- she had to keep reminding herself. She nearly starved too, as game was scarce along the North Road, though she hardly cared. When she made it back to Cousland Keep, her first stop after the stables was the training yard.

She yelled her frustrations as loud as she could. She attacked the wooden training dummy with all her practiced skill. She hacked it to bits and moved on to the next one. When her sword broke, she pummeled them to bits with her fists. When there were none left, she curled into a ball on the cold stone ground and cried.

She was unsure how long she had been there, crying. The soft echo of bare feet clapping against stone broke her from her self-pity. She glanced up in time to see her personal handmaid kneel in front of her. The girl placed a hand on her shoulder, a look of concern clear in her bright, ice-blue eyes. "My Lady…are you all right?"

"Rianne," Elissa forced herself to sit up. Night had fallen since she had collapsed on the cobbles. Rianne wore her nightgown and a cape over it to protect her from Highever's infamously cool breeze . Elissa quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks. Rianne glanced away, indulging Lady Cousland in the fable that her tears were unseen.

"Come, My Lady, to bed with you. You'll catch your death out here," the young girl admonished. She herself was no older than the Cousland heiress, but often chided her in much the same manner as Nan. Elissa stood under her own waning strength. She knew Rianne could not help her up alone, despite the extent of her concern. Rianne sighed and shook her head, her dark auburn hair shifting in waves from side to side.

"Have you eaten, My Lady? You're thin as a street-waif!" the maiden remarked.

"Not much," Elissa replied her voice a monotone of exhaustion. They strode arm in arm toward the inner halls of Castle Cousland. The young maid clucked her tongue at Elissa. "Look what you've done to yourself, My Lady," she grabbed Elissa's hand and held it to her face, showing Cousland her own bloody knuckles. "We'll have to get you a bath now, and get you properly fixed up,"

* * *

Rianne peeled the leather gloves off of her mistress's hands one by one. Elissa winced as the tight material was forcibly dragged over raw, torn, and swollen flesh. Rianne sighed, "'Tis your own fault, My Lady," she chided.

"What did that poor practice doll ever do to you to deserve such a beating anyway?" Rianne asked, as she dipped Elissa's hands into a bowl of warm water that had been mixed with antiseptic herbs. Cousland hissed, her eyes narrowing at the sharp, medicinal sting.

"Nothing," she replied.

"Then what is it that troubles you so?" Rianne asked sincerely. She took Elissa's left hand and plucked out a large splinter with a small pair of tweezers.

Elissa flinched. "My mother- she has made _arrangements_…"

Rianne's brow furrowed. "Your mother makes arrangements _every _year," she reasoned, setting the left hand back into the bowl and taking Elissa's right, "Tis no reason to overreact, My Lady."

Elissa shook her head. "It's _different_ this time-"

Rianne arched an eyebrow, "Different? How so, My Lady?" She examined the right hand carefully, holding it up to the candlelight. She set it back into the bowl when there were no splinters to be found.

Elissa snorted, "I don't have a _choice_, anymore, that's how."

Rianne looked up at Elissa. "Who do you not have a choice in marrying?" she asked, the jealously in her voice expertly masked from the Cousland heiress. She tried to keep her mind off of the information as she wrapped Elissa's wounds with gauze.

"Bann Teagan,"

"Teagan?" Rianne echoed, incredulous. "Teagan Guerrin?"

Elissa nodded her head softly, a look of pure defeat on her face.

"But…he's so…_old_!" Rianne insisted, "surely the teyrn would not-"

"My father has already agreed. Mother would not have had Fergus tell me unless she was certain I couldn't find a way out of it" Elissa's voice was empty, hopeless.

"_When?_" Rianne asked, unable to hide the dread in her voice. She finished the bandages, tucking the ends and tying them off. She held Lady Cousland's hands in her own still.

"I'm not sure, but knowing my mother, the sooner, the better. Probably at her next spring salon ." Elissa replied. Rianne gripped her hands tighter at the news. Elissa winced.

"Sorry, My Lady," Rianne apologized, releasing Elissa's hands. She cocked her head to the side. "Are you…planning to run away again?"

"To what end? To have Father's scouts find me in less than a week as they did the last time?" Elissa shook her head, "No, I am not running away." Her hazel eyes held Rianne's pale blue ones. A question danced in the air between them. Rianne wanted her affections acknowledged. Elissa wanted not to be separated from her maiden. "Will you…come with me?" she asked.

"To Rainesfere? M-My Lady…such things are not done." Rianne said.

"Why not?" Elissa insisted.

"Because…they are simply not."

Elissa's stomach growled. Rianne stood, beckoning Elissa to follow her.

* * *

Rianne lead her to the kitchens. Nan glanced up from the large stew pot brewing over the fire. "Lady Cousland? You're not due back till the morrow. What-?"

"I…left early," she managed, avoiding the old woman's eyes.

"Are you ill? You look so pale, and thin," Nan's old eyes, usually regarded the younger Cousland with consternation, but now they held genuine concern,"

"No, ma'am, but …I _am_ hungry." As soon as the words left her lips, her stomach demonstrated with a vicious growl and a stab of hunger that almost brought Elissa to her knees. She swayed balancing against Rianne's frame for support. Nan's eyes widened.

"Starving, I'd say, from the look -and sound-of it!" Nan commented. "Well, sit down," she gestured to one of the benches at the small table reserved for the castle servants. Nan ladled out a big bowl of soup and set it before her. Elissa thanked her and took the bowl to her lips, slurping greedily. Nan rolled her eyes and took the spoon back, "Well, if you're not even going to use it…" her voice trailed off, grumbling.

Nan noticed Elissa's hands and glared a question at her. Elissa looked at Rianne. Both girls looked back at Nan, then shrugged. Nan went back to stirring the pot. Elissa wasn't sure what kind of soup it was. There were noodles and some kind of meat floating around in it that was obviously not chicken. It was a simple dish, she noted, nothing like the fancy arrangements her family ate in the proper dining hall. It didn't matter, though, this soup was by far the most delicious thing she had ever put into her mouth. _Nearly a week of starvation will do that_, she figured. She polished off the bowl and Nan had to take it away from her before she started licking it clean.

She regarded the young noble with a startled concern. "Would you like some more, my lady?" she asked. Elissa sat back and stretched her arms behind her head.

"No, thank you, I feel much better now, I'm just tired." she said standing, "Thank you, Nan."

"Get some rest then, my lady, you look afright," she said. Elissa walked over to her and hugged her. Nan turned her head away, scrunching up her nose, "Ugh! But _do_ get a bath, first, you stink!" she said, shoving Elissa away.

Elissa laughed as she shook her head, "I love _you_ too, Nan!" she called as she and Rianne left.

* * *

Elissa thought it was perfectly ridiculous. She was well old enough to bathe herself. She had never _wanted_ to play the pampered princess. This was all her mother's idea, and it was something she wondered if she would _ever_ find herself entirely accustomed to. When Elissa had turned fourteen, the teyrna commissioned an orphaned Nevarran girl, Rianne, to help groom her rebellious daughter into becoming a proper lady of the court. The nightly baths grew ever more uncomfortable for Elissa with the passage of time.

The first few years of Rianne's employment consisted of Elissa's resentment towards the girl. She constantly insisted to both the handmaiden and the teryna that she had no need for yet another nursemaid. When it came to the subject of her baths, the young teyrneta let it be known-often at the top of her lungs-that she had bathed her own self since the age of eight, and therefore, did _not _require help.

As they both grew older, Elissa began to realize that she enjoyed Rianne's gentle touch. The way Rianne's hands trailed lightly along her skin sent shivers up her spine. Nightly baths became an event she both anticipated and dreaded.

Rianne approached Elissa cautiously, soap in one hand, sponge in the other. Elissa swallowed past the sandpaper in her throat. Her eyes busied themselves anywhere else but at her maid. The thought that Rianne was _naked_ beneath the foamy bubbles both allured and frightened her. Fergus' words haunted her mind. _I've seen the way you look at the maids…the way you look at Rianne…_

"Here let me help," the girl said. She dipped both soap and sponge under the water and brought them up, rubbing them together vigorously. When the sponge had gathered enough suds, she placed the soap aside on the edge of the tub. Elissa gazed at Rianne's back, admiring the way her dark auburn hair fell in cascading waves to just past her shoulders. She traced the outline of her body as it narrowed from the shoulders down to where her waist began. Everything below that lay beneath a thin veil of gentle white clouds of soap.

Rianne turned her attention back to her lady. "My lady! Keep your arms raised! You'll wet your bandages!" she scolded. Elissa snapped out of her enchantment, realizing her arms had dropped into the water, bent at the elbows, so her hands remained within inches of the water's surface. She shot her arms up quickly reaching skyward again. Her shoulders and biceps screamed in protest.

Rianne took Elissa's left arm and ran the sponge over it with a medium pressure, enough to scrub, but not rough. She made sure to scrub the arm all over, either side and underneath. When it was done she reached for her right arm and cleaned it well in the same manner. Elissa kept her arms raised even though they trembled and burned. Rianne glided through the water, around to Elissa's back.

Elissa stiffened in reaction to the feel of Rianne's hands along her back and shoulders. The girl scrubbed down the length of her spine below the water line to the small of her back. Here she paused, before going back up again.

"Rianne?" Elissa's voice cut into the silence.

"Hmm?" The girl craned her neck around to regard Elissa with her ice-blue eyes. Rianne's breasts pressed their gentle warmth lightly into Elissa's back.

"…Er…ah…speaking of _marriage_…Do _you_ have a beau?" Elissa asked awkwardly. She supposed it was a stupid question. Rianne was her maiden. She would obviously know if the girl had a suitor, but she couldn't think of how else to bring up the question burning in her mind.

"No, my lady, I do not," she said as she turned back to scrubbing. Simple. Concise.

Elissa half-turned in her direction. "Why not? You're very pretty. Surely you should," she commented. She wasn't flirting, at least, she wasn't making a _conscious_ effort in the way. Elissa Cousland just happened to be very blunt sometimes.

Rianne flushed scarlet. "I…um, th-thank-you, My Lady is very kind. You flatter me so," She smiled a small smile. Elissa felt a strange feeling vibrating towards her from the maid. It was in the way she would not meet Elissa's eyes directly, and when she accidentally did, she would immediately smile and glance downward and away.

Elissa turned full to face her. "What do you think of my brother?" she asked Rianne.

"My Lady, your brother has a wife!" Rianne cried, incredulous.

"No- I mean…do you _fancy_ him? Is he…handsome?" Elissa corrected.

"Here, rest your arms on me," Rianne commented, letting Elissa drop her hands to her shoulders for relief as she scrubbed her neck and chest, carefully avoiding going too low.

"In regard to your brother…young Lord Cousland is the talk of the castle, amongst the maids. They all fancy him, so in answer to your question, yes, I suppose he is handsome."

Elissa laughed, "Nice try, but this time I'd like _your_ opinion."

Rianne blushed, "My Lady is clever," she said, "He's not hideous…and I've seen a lot worse…but in truth, my heart…belongs to… _another_."

"Who? Who is he?"

_Why is she looking at me like that?_

Rianne's eyes glimmered with unshed tears, but she still managed a small smile for her lady. She averted her eyes as she scrubbed Elissa's midsection, careful again not to go too low. She cleared her throat and turned away. She moved over to the edge of the tub. Her shoulders shook, indicative of silent sobs.

"Have I said something to offend you? If I have, please know I didn't mean to…I'm sorry." Elissa waded up to her and placed her hands on the girl's shoulders. Rianne regained her composure quickly, drying her eyes with her knuckles. When she faced Elissa again, she was smiling. The only evidence of her tears were the red rings around her eyes.

"No, My Lady, it's just- ah, never mind," she said. She smiled looking at the mess atop Cousland's head. She shook her head and sighed. "You should have let _me_ cut it," she said, running both hands through Elissa's hair. She held out a strand and examined the jagged edges with a wistful look. "At least _I_ could have made sure all the ends were _even_,"

Elissa shrugged, unconcerned. "I _like_ it this way."

Rianne giggled. "I know you do, but your mother _fainted_ when she saw it!"

Elissa scoffed. "Karma knew what she planned for me all along, so it took revenge a little early,"

Rianne's eyes went wide. She slapped Elissa lightly on the shoulder. "My Lady! Do not say such things!"

They both laughed suddenly, a fit of giggles temporarily overtaking their sanity. Rianne beamed at Elissa and the young noble thought she had never looked more beautiful. There was another awkward pause.

"You never answered my question," Elissa mentioned. "So…who is this mysterious beau of yours?"

Rianne didn't answer. Instead she dunked Elissa's head under the water, allowing her to rest her hands on her shoulders again so as not to wet the bandages. It was longer than normal before she let her up, though Cousland knew she was in no danger of drowning.

She stood and slicked her hair back. Rianne gestured for her to lower herself a bit so she could shampoo her hair. "Trying to _drown_ me will not make me forget," Elissa said.

"My lady has never been one for idle gossip. Why does it interest you now?" Rianne retorted.

"My maiden has never been so _evasive_," Elissa countered.

Rianne's heart somersaulted when Elissa said the words "my maiden" together, insinuating a certain possessiveness the way the words rolled calmly off of her tongue as though they were perfectly normal and innocent.

"My lady, I cannot tell you." Rianne said, rubbing her fingers over Elissa's scalp, spreading the shampoo around.

"Why not?" Elissa demanded with her eyes closed.

"Because…our love is forbidden," she answered quickly.

"Oooh, forbidden love…so intriguing!" Elissa teased.

Rianne dunked Elissa's head under once more. When she came up this time, the look on Rianne's face was stern. "We should not speak of this anymore, my lady" she said.

"But I want to know who you're in love with!" Elissa insisted.

Rianne blushed, her face darkening with cherry fervor. She averted her eyes from meeting Elissa's.

"Come on, you can tell me," Elissa prodded, "I can keep a secret," she promised.

"Fine, if my lady insists, then I will tell you. But you must understand, things are very different in Nevarra. In Ferelden, a princess does not simply run off with her maiden."

Elissa knit her brows, " What does this have to do with princesses?" Then, a shocked gasp and a moment later… "…Are you in love with a _princess_?"

Rianne waded closer. She raised a hand and caressed Elissa's cheek. A look of certainty gleaming in her eyes. "…more like an _heiress_…" she corrected, letting her voice trail off. There was _something_ about the way she looked at Elissa.

_Oh…_

_Oh!_

_Oh, my…_

Elissa swallowed. Rianne just stood there, staring at her, running her thumb along the noble's cheek, her eyes twinkling. She tucked a loose hair behind Cousland's ear. Elissa edged closer still, so that Rianne had to look up at her. A moment later, Elissa's lips were pressed to the maiden's in a gentle kiss.

Rianne returned the kiss with enthusiasm. Elissa slipped her tongue in Rianne's mouth, as Leliana had taught her. Her shyness was gone, she was a fast learner. Rianne sighed and pulled back slowly. Her eyes were glassy. "We shouldn't do this. Not _here_." she said, backing away. She pulled herself up out of the tub. Elissa admired the view, enjoying the way the water ran down Rianne's nude form. Rianne found a towel and wrapped it around her body. She turned to find Elissa staring at her with a big goofy smirk on her face. Rianne smiled a coy smile, " My Lady is such a pervert!" she teased, feigning shock.

Elissa grinned wider and followed her out of the tub. Rianne tucked her towel under her arm, and found one for Elissa. She handed it to her, but Elissa ignored it and pulled Rianne close to her body. "Tis my _maiden_'s fault," she said "You parade around naked like this, share a tub with me, and tell me you want to run away with me…what am I _supposed _to think, my dear maid?" She leaned in for another kiss, but Rianne stopped her with a hand on her chest. She insisted Elissa take the towel, shoving it up in her face. "Not _here_," she whispered, shaking her head.

Rianne was right. No one was expecting her home so soon. The Couslands were not due back from Denerim until tomorrow. Anyone could essentially walk right in. The maids and man-servants often took advantage of such absences to thoroughly scrub the castle top to bottom, so as not to disturb the family when they _were_ in residence. She sighed begrudgingly and wrapped the towel around herself.

The journey from the bath to her bedchamber had never seemed longer to Elissa, though the two half-walked, half-ran through the halls, hand in hand with Rianne leading the way.

Elissa had no sooner shut the door behind her, then Rianne shoved her up against it, kissing her with tenfold the vigor she had in the tub. Towels were lost in desperate caresses and fell to the floor. Elissa's head was dizzy with disbelief at what was happening. At the same time, and much more real was the press of Rianne's body against her, writhing, rubbing, sighing. An indescribable… feeling rose within her, a long-suppressed need. It was as if she suffered from a fever, and Rianne-gentle, sweet, Rianne-was the only antidote.

Rianne pulled away for breath. Her eyes were half-lidded and glazed. She stared silently at Elissa for a long moment. "We shouldn't be doing this," she whispered, then she pulled her down into another passionate kiss. This time, Elissa broke the kiss, desperate for air.

"It's wrong" she said, her lips brushing the maiden's once more, her tongue gliding against Rianne's.

"So very wrong, my lady," Rianne nodded, her lips a breath away from Elissa's, her hands lost in Elissa's self-cropped hair.

Elissa deepened the kiss, leading the maid to her bed, "On so many levels," she sighed between kisses, as Rianne climbed on top of her.

Legs entwined. Bodies meshed. Hands roamed. Their need to be close, to be _unified_, brought passionate kisses rekindled, driven by a new, urgent force. They whimpered. They cried out. They sighed. They moaned. They mewled.

Neither girl being any more experienced than the other, it ended quickly.

Rianne sighed, laying her head atop Elissa's shoulder. Elissa absently twirled a finger through Rianne's dark tresses. Not a word was spoken. Sleep claimed them soon after.

* * *

The morning after Elissa left, Fergus had to explain to his mother, that she was…homesick for Highever, when the teyrna had glanced quizzically at the empty stall. She smiled and hugged him, then got up into the carriage with her nephew and daughter-in-law.

"That's my sweet Pup," Bryce smiled as he rode up next to his son. The roan mare protested, then snorted.

The carriage driver clucked his tongue and started the horses up.

Fergus's black gelding sashayed nervously. Fergus grinned innocently at his father. _If you only knew… _he thought. "Last one home's a fishwife!" he cried, digging his heels into the gelding's flank.

Bryce laughed merrily. "Hup!" he instructed the roan mare, chasing after.

* * *

"Nan, is my daughter _still_ asleep?" The teyrna asked.

"She didn't come down for breakfast, your Ladyship, but… she did appear to be ill last night. I'm sure it's nothing, probably just a stomach bug. I'll check on her, if you like," Nan offered, setting down the pot she was scrubbing into the wash basin.

"Thank you, Nan, I'll check on her myself," the teryna said. Her heart fluttered just a little. Nan was probably right. If she was ill at all, it was most likely a simple flu, or something of the sort. Still, as a mother always does, she worried.

At that moment, as her paced quickened towards her daughter's bedchamber, her mind brought to her images of all the times she had been sick. First as a babe of less than six months, she had gotten the colic. Then at four the chickpox. At twelve she had contracted a pnuemonia so terrible, the healer could do nothing and the Couslands could only pray as the life of their youngest hung by a thread. It was with this worry, that she entered her daughter's chamber.

* * *

"ANDRASTE'S FLAMING SWORD!"

It was the rudest awakening Elissa had ever experienced. She jolted upright, confused and afraid. "Huh? Wha? Mother?" She blinked several times. Her vision focused.

The teyrna knelt on the floor, her legs curled underneath her. She clutched the doorknob with one hand, the other hand clutched her stomach, as if she felt pain there. Her face was a mask of sorrow, pain, betrayal, shock. Any number of emotions Elissa couldn't name at the moment. She still didn't realize what was happening.

Rianne stirred beside her, stretching.

"Hmm?" she asked sleepily.

Elissa rolled out of bed. At a helpless gasp from her mother, she realized she was naked. She grabbed one of the sheets and quickly wrapped it around herself.

"My Lady Teyrna!" Rianne gasped. She jumped out of the bed and threw the other sheet around her to cover her shame.

Elissa steeled her nerves. Her mother, once the proud, noble teryna, now looked as though she might break at the slightest whisper. She carefully knelt beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Mom…?"

Rianne quickly found a nightgown and threw it on, then looked for something for Elissa, as the teyrneta tried to soothe her ailing mother.

Eleanor Cousland's world had been ripped from her the moment she had opened the door and saw her daughter was not alone. Their tie to either House Howe or House Guerrin was surely lost. The fact that it was a _woman_ her daughter had slept with, was the bitter salt in this open wound.

Rianne returned with a loose-fitting men's styled shirt that was long enough to cover Elissa's womanly parts. Elissa thanked her quietly and pulled it on over her head. She stood and reached her hand out for her mother, who had still not said a word.

The teyrna slapped her hand away, she steadied herself with the doorknob and pulled herself up. Eleanor slapped her daughter across the face. The sound echoed off the walls. "HOW DARE YOU?", she screamed.

Elissa slowly settled her head forward. She stood up straighter, steeling herself, standing fast against her mother's wrath.

"I can't believe you would endanger our alliance with the Howes for your _selfish_ _desires_," she spat, her voice low and full of venom. She glanced past her daughter to the maiden, "And you! You lying, conniving little _harlot_!" she screamed, taking a threatening step toward Rianne.

Elissa cut her off, stepping between them. "Don't you touch her," she said, forcing her mother to see the anger in her eyes. She grasped her mother's wrists and struggled to hold her, as the teyrna's rage insisted. They stared at each other, testing to see who would back down first. Elissa stood her ground, her eyes hazing over with defiance. _See me as I truly am, mother._

The teyrna dropped her gaze from her daughter. She hissed at Rianne, "I want you out of my home, wench! Now!"

"No!" Elissa shouted, glancing over her shoulder at the maiden, her voice drawing a deep tone from somewhere within her soul. "You're _my_ maid, listen to me…_I _want you to stay."

Rianne paused, halfway to the door. She glanced nervously from the teyrna to her daughter and back again. She didn't know what to do or whom to obey. Mother and daughter were literally at each other's throats, physically wrestling each other for control. Elissa was the stronger of the two, but only for the youth on her side. The teyrna's arms sagged as she gave up trying to fight past her daughter to harm the maiden. Rianne was caught in the middle of their argument, so she stood frozen where she was.

The teyrna glared at her daughter. "She is under _my_ employ, and _I _shall decide when it ends," she declared, her voice threaded with anger.

"You've no right," Elissa countered. The teyrna slapped her again.

"I have every right!" she shouted, "What right did you think _you_ possessed to endanger your family's safety, your _people's_ safety?"

Elissa hung her head in shame at her mother's unexpected words. It was a low blow. Mother was playing her, yet again.

"GUARDS!" the teyrna shouted.

Several armor-clad men trotted quickly into Elissa's room. They stood in formation, awaiting the teyrna's command.

She glared at Elissa, her voice calm as she gave the order, " I want Rianne escorted out of the castle, immediately. She is henceforth _banished_ from Highever for so long as she lives."

That single word sliced through her daughter's heart like a poisoned dagger. "No!" Elissa cried, reaching for the maiden. The men bodily separated them, though they found it easier to handle the maid than the noble. Elissa struggled against them, cursing the men as she fought to break free. It took four of them to hold her. The other two escorted the maiden away. She said nothing, but glanced back when Elissa shouted her name.

"RIANNE!"

When the guards and the maid were gone from sight, Elissa crumpled in the men's grasp much as her mother had upon first seeing them together in the bed.

"Leave us," the teyrna said quietly to the guards. Footsteps became faint echoes as the guards got further and further away. Eleanor glanced down at her daughter who now sobbed uncontrollably in a fetal position on the floor.

"By the Grace of the Maker, you had _better_ still be a virgin!" she warned. With that, she left to summon the physician.

* * *

After a thoroughly humiliating (for Elissa) examination, the physician confirmed to the teyrna, that yes, her daughter's virtue was still intact.

* * *

A/N: this was supposed to be the chapter about Iona. I had made a minor reference to a certain maid who had been Elissa's first lesbian kiss, which her mother had incedently walked in on. As the story grew and the characters ran away with themselves, so did Rianne, earning herself a much larger and more important role than I had originally intended for her. I changed a few things in previous chapters such as giving Leliana the honor of the first kiss instead. I like it better this way. Thanks so much for reading, please review, and know that it gives me warm fuzzies when you fave and subscribe.

PS- I'm not sure that grinding "really counts" as far as doing it goes, so _technically_, Lissie's still a virgin.

Take care, till next chap

~E.C.

Thanks for the reviews! Elmjuniper made a good point, and I see now that I should have clarified my meaning. I think in regards to an arranged marriage the arrangement would be considered null and void if it was learned that the woman's chastity (hymen, if you need me to be blunt) had been broken _before_ the marriage, or by someone other than the arranged husband. I'm just trying to stick to lore that is generally considered cannon for the medieval time era.

Okay, for anyone who's confused as to my motives, or the way the OC's view marriage and sexuality, please refer the marriage and sexuality thread on the older version of the dragon age central site, the thread # is 690080, I did my own take on it based on what the developers posted. If you'd like the link, pm me.

Pss- I needed to get Rianne out of Highever so she wouldn't die at the fall of Highever so don't be too mad, she may turn up later, if I need a shameless plot bunny. Besides, this is supposed to be a Cousland/ _Leliana_ romance, right? Speaking of our favorite bard, I wonder what she's up to right about now...


	9. Hemorrhage

Author's Note: bioware owns all except Serai. She's my own OC from an original story, but I like to put her into my other stories when I need an OC. :P

*Edit* 7-22-12- removed song lyrics.

* * *

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch.9 - Hemorrhage

A month passed. It was only a month before Marjolaine sent word. Leliana read the letter again. Actually, it was just a note. Marjolaine was never one for many words.

_Leliana. Come home. There is…business we must discuss. _the note read. The first three words thrilled her, despite her apprehension at the _business_ end of it. She was given leave by Sangaa to return to Orlais, and she could not have been happier. Oh how her arms ached to be held by Marjolaine once more.

* * *

The scroll had contained the name and location of a man. This man held in his possession sealed documents which belonged to Marjolaine. Documents that Marjolaine needed returned. It took Leliana two weeks to locate him. Her efforts to seduce him had been for naught, she had had to kill him to retrieve the documents.

On her way back to Val Royeaux she pondered what information the documents contained. Why were they so important to Marjolaine? _Information is a valuable commodity, my dear… He who knows the most, stands to gain the most, no?_ One of Marjolaine's many lessons resounded in her mind.

Curiosity had always been a major weakness for Leliana. She sat by the small fire she had made, and gingerly held the envelope close enough to the flame to weaken the wax seal holding it shut, but not close enough to singe the document.

Her brows knit in confusion as she tried to disbelieve what she was reading. _This must be a mistake! It cannot be true! _She quickly checked the other sealed parchments to be sure of what she was seeing. _Marjolaine! Maker's Mercy! She is in grave danger!_

Leliana didn't bother to re-seal the documents. She stuffed them into the folds of her tunic and quickly mounted her steed, snapping the reigns hard, racing towards Val Royeaux.

* * *

She lay crumpled on the floor. The stone unforgiving, cold beneath her dress. Her cheek stung from the blow. Her thoughts rambled incoherently through her mind, unable to process what had just happened. Marjolaine knelt beside her. She reached out a hand to touch Leliana's cheek. The young bard cringed reflexively. She had never suspected Marjolaine would strike her. Until that moment, Leliana had truly loved her and she had thought her love reciprocated. Hot tears stung her eyes, flowing freely down her face.

Marjolaine's expression was soft as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind Leliana's ear. She tenderly wiped a tear from the cheek she had treated roughly just moments ago. Leliana sobbed harder, confused.

"There, now," Marjolaine whispered with all the reassurance of a venomous snake, "you will not defy me again, no?"

Leliana's eyes were wide as saucers. "N-no, …of course not…I-I-I'm so sorry," Leliana promised. A dark smile crept over Marjolaine's features. As she stood to leave she said, simply, "Good. Clean yourself up. Wear that green dress I bought you. You fill it well."

Leliana nodded silently, still laying fetal-like on the floor. She did not get up until well after Marjolaine had gone. She would be back, that much was certain. Her parting words were orders, not requests. Leliana took a deep breath and then another. She forced herself to look at the dressing mirror on her vanity.

Her skin was a pale, ghostly white, which only made her hair look all the redder by comparison. Her face was dirty and stained from tears. Her right cheek was swollen and red, a purple bruise blossoming perfectly in the center of the welt. Her eye was nearly shut from the swelling. A small amount of blood trickled from her nose. The girl in the mirror stared back at her in terror.

A quiet numbness settled over her and slowly sank deeper into her core as the rest of the night's events played out. She fixed herself up as told and waited silently in the dark for Marjolaine's return. The coupling was rough and devoid of emotion. For the first time since Marjolaine had taken her as a lover, Leliana felt nothing. She was cold. Empty. When it was over, Marjolaine left without saying a word. Leliana felt used. She understood, in the keenest sense, that she had only ever been another pretty plaything for Marjolaine to use until she grew bored with her.

The emptiness slowly engulfed Leliana, swallowing all the light and joy she once had. She wanted to cry herself to sleep, but the emptiness would not allow her even that simple indulgence, so she lay quietly in the dark, and waited for a morning that would never come.

She was jerked roughly out of bed come dawn's breaking light. Four Orlesian Guards stared steadily at her, their weapons drawn. The fifth one, the one who had dragged her out of bed, shoved a familiar document in her face. "Is this your signature?" he demanded.

Leliana was bewildered. "Y-yes…but I did not sign that," she pleaded. What is going on here? How did the guards get in? she wondered. Surely, if she was in any trouble, Marjolaine would have warned her.

Guard Number 5 nodded once to the others and grabbed Leliana's arm, shoving it up behind her back at a sharp angle. If he struggled too much, she would only succeed in breaking her arm at the elbow. "What are you doing?" she demanded, "Let go of me! I haven't done anything! Marjolaine!"

Another guard stepped up on her right side and grabbed her other arm. Marjolaine showed up from the hall. Her expression was blank. "We have a confession from the traitor, madame," Guard 5 said to her. Much to the younger bard's amazement, and horror, Marjolaine nodded at him. "Take her away."

"What? Stop this! Marjolaine!" Leliana screamed as she was dragged away, struggling. "Marjolaine!"

* * *

Her struggles ceased with the shame of being dragged through the streets of her hometown like a common criminal, her hands and ankles bound in heavy iron shackles. She hung her head low, letting her strawberry hair hide her face from friends and acquaintances. Familiar faces leaned into each other with wide eyes, raised brows, and gossipy whispers.

Leliana felt sick to her stomach. What in Andraste's name had happened? She still could not wrap her mind around it. The sun shone brightly in the Orlesian morning, blinding her senses. Birds sung their happy tunes to each other in their elaborate mating rituals. A small child stopped and stared at the prisoner. She could not have been more than five. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a simple braid. Her mouth hung open, her hazel eyes, more green than brown, stared in unbridled curiosity. Then she smiled at Leliana. A single tear escaped the prisoner's eye.

There was no trial. No amount of protesting would do her any good now, she knew. She had already confessed, and for the Orlesian guards, that was enough proof of her guilt. Her heart broke when she realized what she had been accused of. The letters she had been shown were Marjolaine's letters, the ones she had been sent to retrieve. Marjolaine was selling Orlesian secrets to other countries, a most heinous act of _treason_, of the highest order.

Leliana knew right then, from the horrified looks on the townspeople's faces, that she would suffer a traitor's death, and her soul would spend eternity in an unmarked grave.

She was quickly shuffled off to the dungeons. The crowded streets gave way to abandoned buildings and twisting, maze-like back alleys. Finally, they came to a small, thatched house. There was no furniture inside the single room besides a desk and an chair. A guard sat in the chair, behind the desk. One of the guards escorting her, the one who had jerked her out of bed not an hour ago, signed a form on the desk. The guards led her to the back door. It opened on a long stairwell that led down into the dark depression of Hell. Screams could be heard, some close, others farther away. Fear's cold grasp clamped down on her sense of reality, until it felt as if it was all the young bard had ever known. "Please," she managed, her breath a raspy whisper, "I'm innocent."

The guards shared a laugh. The one who had signed her in, said, "Right, that's what they _all_ say!" He shoved her violently into an empty cell. She fell, unable to catch herself, with her hands shackled. He followed in behind her and locked the cell. The other guards took their cue and left.

"So…innocent, eh?" he laughed, "We'll see just how innocent you _really_ are, no?"

* * *

He finished lacing up his trousers. The other guards returned carrying various instruments of torture with them.

The girl cringed making herself into a small ball in the far corner of the cell. She clung to the bars with a vice grip, her knuckles white as she trembled."Has she named her conspirators, Rafel?" One of the other guards asked.

He scoffed and rubbed a hand over the flaccid front of his trews. "Not yet, but, she certainly can't claim her innocence anymore!" he laughed, and the others joined in.

* * *

The days passed slowly, melting into weeks. She wasn't sure how long she had been there. A single guard would come every morning with a plate of rice which she refused to eat, convinced it was poison. The rats would come every night to clean her plate. Sometimes, they would regard her with curious snouts, sniffing the blood on the air. A daring one would take a step closer, until she scared it away, but soon, she knew, she would no longer have the strength.

The cell creaked open.

She startled, now fully alert. A dark figure crept inside and shut the cell door. The prisoner thought there was something different about this figure, something important she should try to remember. The shrouded figure crept closer to her, keeping to the shadows.

The figure knelt at the prisoner's side. Those eyes…something about those eyes, but her brain could not muster the knowledge.

"Leliana?" the voice was familiar, but the prisoner could not place it. The world was darkening quickly. She found it hard to hold on to consciousness. She was so tired.

"I can't believe she's done this…" the shrouded figure whispered. She hefted Leliana's frail, broken body. Anger thrummed through her being at the realization how much weight her adopted sister had lost. The bruises and blood and ragged torn dress angered her further. At the sight of the faded and fading scars, she vowed revenge. "She won't get away with this," she promised the unconscious woman in her arms.

It was dark of night as Serai made escape from Val Royeaux, Leliana's broken form cradled in her own atop the horse.

Six days took them to the southeastern border of Ferelden. They knew the guards were on their trail. They barely rested at all, Serai taking watch to allow her sister's strength to recover. She ate ravenously of the game Serai caught, color slowly returning to her features.

Leliana pulled her sister's cloak tighter around her and pulled the hood up, as she shoved the last delicious bite of rabbit in her mouth and chewed thoroughly. She finished and brought the waterskin to her mouth, drinking greedily. Her body was finally beginning to recover from dehydration and starvation. She felt much stronger than she had in a while. She shivered as a chill wind threatened to blow her cloak open. She clutched the ends tighter with both hands.

Serai walked up to her from the line of trees surrounding their small makeshift camp. She kicked the dying fire out quickly, throwing it's own ash atop the smoldering embers. "They come," she said, glancing down on her sister.

Serai offered a slender hand. Leliana took it and let the younger girl pull her to her feet. The blonde girl smiled weakly, eyes trembling with sadness. She pulled Leliana close and threw her arms around her in a fierce hug. Leliana returned it, trying to memorize the feel of her sister's embrace. She knew, instinctively, she would probably never see her again. Serai pulled away, tears in her eyes.

"I would leave him with you, but…" , she said, tossing her head in the direction of the horse.

"They are following his tracks," Leliana finished for her. "Where will you go?" she asked.

"North." Serai replied, "I will lead them as far from you as I can. Run south, for as long as you can. Don't stop, and whatever you hear, don't turn back."

Leliana teared up at the thought of leaving and possibly losing her only family, her little sister. "She will hunt you," Leliana warned.

Serai smiled a rueful smile. "I know."

She kissed Leliana once on each cheek. Leliana returned the double cheek kiss. "I love you, sister," were their parting words to one another.

Leliana watched on as her sister mounted the horse and rode off, calling loudly to it, to draw their pursuer's attentions. "Hyah! Hyah!" she cried.

Leliana could not see them for the trees, but she could hear the clanking of their armor, the thundering of hooves, and several men yelling orders to each other. She turned south and ran.

Dawn of the seventh day brought her to the outskirts of a small settlement. Little had she known at the time, if she had turned just slightly west, she would have made to Highever in two days, tops. Had she gone east, she could have been in Amaranthine in three at most. Instead, she ran straight south as her sister had instructed. The girl had risked her own life in helping her and in the process had given up the only life she had known. It was all Leliana could do to respect what was probably her last wish.

Each step forward caused her pure agony from the weeping blisters on her tired, aching feet. Still, out of sheer will alone, she dragged her body forward, one foot at a time. She was exhausted from her ordeal, running nonstop during the days, sleeping in trees at night. There was little game out in the open wild, so when the smell of freshly baked bread wafted up to her, her stomach gurgled in response. She could hear the sounds of a communal little town, the farmers working the field, women singing as they hung laundry out to dry, children playing happily.

She came to a stream and only knew it, because the aching in her feet soothed instantly at the cool wetness. She tried to cross it, but it was proving difficult to move her feet at all. Staying upright was proving difficult. Leliana's last thought was that she must be hallucinating, for the last thing she saw was a black man in a pink dress.

"The Maker's Light shines upon the meek. His Gaze falls upon them with Mercy," Chanter Devons whispered in a gentle monotone. He caught her as she fell, before she could drown in the stream. One last time, an unconscious Leliana was hefted. He carried her, bridal style, into town, his laundry duty forgotten for the moment. His only thought was to take her to the Revered Mother. She would certainly know what to do.

* * *

A/N: This chapter was meant to be ALOT darker, hence the title, taken from the song by Fuel, but...I just couldn't do it. We all know she was tortured, etc. I just can't bring myself to write about it, even though I thought I should and could. Thanks for reads and reviews! I'll try to get the next one up soon.


	10. Give Me a Sign

Author's Note: Bioware owns it all.

I do have to warn you that this chapter is DARK and deals with very dark subject matter (cutting). That being said, the title is taken from Breaking Benjamin's "Give me a Sign". I've noticed I rely on music to coax my muse to its darkest reaches. Anyone else? just curious.

*Edit* 7-22-12- removed song lyrics.

* * *

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch.10 Give me a Sign

She heaved a weary sigh, staring out the small window from her chair at the small table near the far side of the tavern. Dark hair hung down to her shoulders. She knew she would have to cut it again, soon. She mentally made note of that and took another swallow of what passed for wine from her glass. She made a sour face and shuddered. It was nothing like she was used to. She shrugged as she watched the activity of the small town, people went about their daily lives happily outside the tavern.

She reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out a small envelope. She ran her fingers over the packet, fully aware of the reason for it's necessity. That bitter thought stung at her heart. Tears came fresh at the corners of her eyes. It had been a year already, almost two, in fact. She was still not over her, not completely. Perhaps she never would be. She laughed, a stark, rough sound, that didn't seem to fit her demure nature. She caught herself, closing her mouth before the forced sounds coming out of her throat could become sobs.

She placed her head in her hands and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. _One day at a time_, she thought to herself, _one day at a time_. Her hands shook as she opened the packet and poured the contents, a fine blue powder into her drink. She stirred it absently with a spoon while she watched a handful of children kicking a leather ball between them in the grassy field outside. She took another sip of her so-called wine. It was…better, with the herbs, but still not great, or even good. She finished it without complaint.

She stood, grabbing her glass and spoon. She gave the barkeep a small bow and headed for the kitchen. He nodded his head slightly, then turned his attention to some customers who had just entered. They had an arrangement. For a glass of wine each week, she would in turn wash the dishes at the tavern that night. Of course he had arranged it to be his busiest night of the week, which was only to his advantage and not hers, but for free wine, she supposed she could not complain.

She glanced about the kitchen, to make sure she was entirely alone. When she was satisfied, she rolled her peach-colored sleeves up to her elbows, exposing the bevy of self-inflicted scars that covered her left arm from the wrist up to her elbow. Some of the scars were old ones, the skin white and smooth and barely noticeable against her pale complexion. Others were fresh, dark violations against her skin. The newest one, from the night before, had scabbed over, the rough, bedraggled skin, a red exclamation, a testament to her pain, and in her tortured mind, also, to her strength.

She had not _wanted_ to hurt herself. At least, that was not the immediate intent, the first night she had taken the blade to her skin. In fact, she had not planned on surviving that night. She had thought the action of taking her own life would be the only way to silence Marjolaine's voice from her head, to keep the bitch from invading her dreams, twisting them and turning them to nightmares.

Two years ago, she was broken. Her body had been badly abused by the Orlesian guards. The bones in her legs and arms had all been broken. The journey south from the border had been a miraculous one, but for Leliana, it had been complete agony, yet another torture wrought upon her by the woman she once loved.

The guards had done terrible things to make her confess and reveal her conspirators, and it had all been done by Marjolaine's hand. After her sister had helped her escape, she had used all of her remaining strength to flee south and somehow, she had made it to the outskirts of this little town. She had run nonstop, going on sheer determination alone. The thunderstorm that had lasted from the third to sixth day, had covered her tracks. She had collapsed sometime just after dawn on the seventh day.

She awoke in the Chantry, the Revered Mother standing over her with a concerned look. It had taken her weeks to recover. She tried to do as much as she could for herself during that time, but the Revered Mother had insisted she remain bedridden.

Afterward, she was asked if she would like to remain in the Chantry, if she would join the Brothers and Sisters. She might have said yes, but the vows she would have been required to uphold did not sit well upon her heart.

She would not have minded living a life of simplicity. Although Cecile had spoiled her, she was not at all obsessed with the collecting of things. It was more the last two vows she had a problem with. First, as a bard, how could she expect herself to live in silence? Never to sing, never to weave a tale…oh, certainly no!

And a vow of chastity…the thought of never being able to love another again seemed a blasphemy of the Maker's intent, for surely he had put us all here to find each other. For if he did not intend us to find love, why then do we have the capacity for it? It was not Marjolaine's love she sought, but her mind drifted to a face nearly forgotten. The features were distant and fuzzy, …was it, blonde hair?, … but those eyes. Fierce hazel eyes.

So, she made her affirmation, and tried her best to fit in. She prayed with the other sisters and brothers, lived with them, chanted with them, ate with them, did chores with them. Still, they treated her as outcast. Different from themselves and therefore, unwelcome. The Revered Mother and dear Chanter Devons, the man who had found her and bodily carried her inside the Chantry, were her only friends. She tried to make friends with the other young female initiates. It was no use. Either her accent would remind them too much of the stories they had heard growing up of the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden, or her own actions would alienate her from them.

She had tended Cecile's gardens in her youth, and the chore brought her peace. The other sisters would snicker and hide their giggles as she walked past. Sometimes they would gossip about her when they thought she was out of earshot. She had heard them say she was crazy because she talked -actually _talked_- to the old dead rosebush that stood twisted and gnarled by the side of the Chantry. But she knew better.

She didn't have many memories of her mother and most of the ones she did have were vague, but she could clearly remember kneeling by her mother's side in the cool, soft earth as her mother sang to the plants. She said they breathed our very breath and to speak to them was to love them, and a loved plant will always flourish. So, Leliana silently endured the stares and gossip, and talked to the old, nearly dead, rosebush. She cared for it every day, rising early to tend it before her chores, and every night, staying up to sing it to sleep. And for that, the others thought her crazy.

That fateful night, many months ago, her intent had backfired, and instead of taking her own life, she became enthralled by the sensation of the blade as it pierced her skin, tearing into the meat below, opening up her flesh, offering it the Maker, for a moment's release from the pain in her soul, the voices in her head, of Marjolaine, of her captors, of her fellow brothers and sisters. The euphoria that overtook her senses in the moments after the violent act became a source of sick release that she misguidedly took for sweet. The impulse turned quickly to need, the need to obsession, and obsession turned with haunting quickness, to addiction.

She paused, the washrag hovering over the last plate. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts and focusing on her task. She scrubbed the caked-on traces of food away, then dipped the plate back into the soapy water. She then dipped it into the clear rinse water a few times and put it up to dry on the rack with the rest of the dishes.

She hefted the soapy basin, resting it on her hip and went to the back door to dump the used water out. Then she did the same for the rinse basin. She stacked them together and placed them in the storage area. She left the tavern, thanking Dane once more.

It was late afternoon now. She took the side entrance into the large Chantry house, expertly avoiding as many of the other brothers and sisters as she made her way back to her own room to ready herself for evening mass.

She brushed her dark, smooth locks, counting the strokes up to one hundred. That was one of her nightly rituals, and one of the few precious memories of her birth mother. When it was done, she unhooked the button at the back of her neck. Her fingers worked the laces loose at her back. Soon, the entire top of the robe fell forward, sliding away from her body. She pulled her arms out of the sleeves and then hooked her thumbs into the waistline of the robe and shimmied loose of it. It slid down her hips and plummeted to the floor, brushing past her legs with a gentle caress. She stepped out of it and picked it up, laying it carefully on the wooden chair in the corner. She glanced once more to the bed, to be sure all was ready.

Dagger. Clean rags. Bandages. A bowl of water with some elf root steeping in it. She nodded to herself. Yes, ready. It was more a matter of ritual now, than any fear of infection, that drove her to such cautions.

She strode back to the bed and knelt before it. She grabbed the small dagger, her heart fluttering with anticipation. She held her left arm out, over the mattress. She licked her lips, absently. Her eyes searched frantic for a clean canvas, an empty patch of skin. When she could not find one, she found where a scar began and traced it, dragging the blade through the toughened skin, reopening the old wound.

Her mind fuzzed with bliss, her vision blurred, eyes unfocused. She gritted her teeth, steeling herself against the sharp, burning pain. For a moment, all was silent, she was at peace.

Then…

"MAKER'S BLOOD, CHILD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!"

She startled, the dagger dropped from her grasp. She turned her head to look feebly at the Revered Mother. The old woman rushed to her side, dropping to her knees to cradle the lost sister in her arms. She rocked her back and forth and whispered the Chant of Light in her ear as the young woman cried loudly, "I can't stop, Mother, I- I can't…I d-d-on't want to…b-but I…c-can't st-stop…"

The old Mother cleaned Leliana's wound and wrapped it in the bandage she had laid out for herself. Her eyes held a mixture of pity and concern. Leliana swallowed the lump in her throat. She felt the first pangs of guilt at her exposed secret. She had not known that the Mother had truly cared for her and her well-being. The old woman helped her dress in silence. She wiped the tears from Leliana's cheeks, then she tugged the left sleeve lower, to cover the bandage. She hugged her tightly one last time and whispered in her ear: "The Maker has a higher purpose for you than this, my dear." The Revered Mother left Leliana to ready for evening mass.

Leliana chanted with her fellow brothers and sisters, the familiar words of the Chant of Light rolling with ease from her tongue. Prayers were offered for the townspeople, the sick, the needy, the elderly. Next came Leliana's favorite part, and she supposed it was a sin of great pride, one that she would no doubt have to confess for later, but nonetheless, a small smile crossed her lips when it was time to sing. The choir began as always with the Hymn of Light, then they sang the Maker's Blessing, and Andraste: Prophet of Mercy. When it was done, Leliana felt a little better, but the Mother's words repeated in her mind.

_The Maker has a higher purpose for you._

But how could she know? Was she right? Or was she merely trying to placate the sister with false assurances?

_If only there was some way of knowing for certain_, she thought to herself as she made her way to the mess hall for last meal. She sat alone, as always, and tried to ignore the stares and gestures in her direction. She ate quickly and excused herself. She immediately found herself outside, in the garden. She took a deep breath of the still, night air.

Luminescent twinkling above her head, heralded the arrival of the night's first stars. She gazed up into the heavens. Her breath caught at the simple wonder of the full moon, silver and perfect as if put there by the hand of the Maker Himself. _What is my purpose? _She wondered, _What would you have me do?_

As if in reply, or maybe it was wishful thinking, she couldn't be sure, a warm breeze wafted by, enveloping her in its embrace. Movement from the far edge of the garden caught her eye. She turned her eyes toward her old friend, the dead bush. It too had felt the breeze, shuddering slightly in its wake.

"What?" she whispered, disbelieving the sight before her eyes. She rubbed them to be sure she was not dreaming. She blinked several times. When her vision re-focused, it was still there. She strode over to the ugly, gnarled plant, telling herself excuses. _No, it must be an insect, yes an insect, of course…_

She knelt before the plant and reached with delicate fingers to touch the object of her fascination. There, spreading up from a single vine she had thought long dead, a sturdy green stem reached toward the sky, ending in a small enclosed bud. It was velvet and satin beneath her gentle caress. She could see the colors now. From far away, the bud had appeared as a black insect. In the shadows of night, the deep maroon of a fresh spring rose had no light to ascertain its proper hue.

She leaned closer and inhaled. Immediately her mind filled with bittersweet images of her life, long past. As Cecile's child in the court of Orlais, she often went flower-hunting with other noble girls her age. She remembered how they would find little white flowers with soft, hollow stems which they would split with their fingers and then entwine them with each other in order to make a necklace, a bracelet or a crown for themselves. Sometimes the Lady would join them and they would all have a grand ball in the fields, gallivanting with song and dance, or lazing away the summer afternoons lying on their backs in the meadows staring up at the sky, trying to find images in the clouds.

She smiled wistfully. A soft song emanated from deep within her being as she leaned close and cupped her hands around the precious bud, whispering her song to it alone. When she was done, she headed back to her room with a smile she could not hold back tugging at her lips, then finally spreading them wide, her eyes alight, her face practically beaming.

Her joy did not last long as she came across a pair of sisters who snickered to themselves as she walked by. "She did it again! Did you see?" one of the sisters whispered to the other. Trembling and shamed, she entered her room.

She rushed over to the side of the bed and fell to her knees. She reached into her robes and produced the knife she had snuck at dinner, since the Revered Mother had confiscated her dagger earlier. She sighed a shaky breath and tried to still her arms as they shivered with guilt, the tip of the knife playing lightly along her skin.

_The Maker has a higher purpose for you…_

The knife clattered loudly to the floor.

"Do You?" she asked, looking up at the ceiling, "for if You do, then please tell me what it is," she said "Why am I here?". She rested her elbows on the edge of the mattress and clasped her hands together in prayer. She lowered her head to her hands and silently prayed for direction.

"Give me a sign…" she whispered, "please, anything…just give me a sign…" she said softly as tears streaked down her face. She prayed until exhausted, falling into the Fade where she sat, with her head in her arms, atop the mattress.

* * *

_Darkness…_

_She woke shrouded in darkness. The empty black space swirled all around her, close and threatening. Her heart pounded, sending the blood rushing to her ears. Faintly, she could hear screams._

_She didn't remember rising from the bed, but she must have. Her hand closed around the doorknob and pulled._

_Darkness…_

_And Fire…_

_The Chantry was burning. _

_She could see the mutilated bodies of the brothers and sisters, torn asunder by the ghastly grotesquities now running amok in the Maker's House. She watched it all with an odd sense of detachment._

_She knew she should feel fear. She should try to run from the fire, from the creatures that gnawed on the corpses of her fallen brethren._

_One of the creatures stopped. It slowly turned its head toward her. The face, if it could be called that, should have frightened her half out of her wits, but instead she felt calm, as if protected by some unseen force the creature could not defy._

_It snarled at her, hissing a screeching breath which stank of death and evil of the utmost certainty. Words spilled out of her mouth with familiar assurance and she felt them to her core, the protective force around her seeming to grow stronger with them._

"_The righteous stand before the Darkness and the Maker shall guide their hand."_

_She sensed the blades before she felt them. Twin short swords which brought back the skill and knowledge of her former life. She fought with a dancer's grace, an assassin's accuracy. The foul creature lay dead before her feet, its head several yards away. Black blood dripped from the twin blades._

_A bloodcurdling screech nearly burst her eardrums and she fell to her knees, clutching her abused organs. When she looked up, she looked up into the face of Fear._

_The Archdemon._

_The darkness pressed closer around her, sucking the breathable air away, until she thought she would suffocate. The creature roared and banged its face towards her, each time coming up short, against an invisible barrier and each time growing more and more frustrated._

_She could feel the fear now. Whatever was happening or had happened, this at least, was real. The creature could see her and her presence seemed to anger it. It lashed at her with its tail and when it came up short again, it screeched again, batting its wings mightily._

_She was thrown backward by the force of the air moved by its wing beats. The creature moved closer, determined to do her in. Leliana readied her blades. The bronze symbol of Andraste at her neck glowed brightly, flaring to life, like her own personal star. The Archdemon rushed forward. Leliana said a quick prayer to the Maker, certain she would be meeting Him soon._

_The Archdemon roared in pain, and Lothering was gone. The sounds of battle caught her attention. She glanced up. Two mighty armies engaged in fierce, bloody battle. Creatures and sentient beings. War Dogs, Elves, Dwarves, Humans, all races of the Maker's design waged a mighty war against the forces of the Archdemon._

_The Archdemon screeched in pain and anger whenever another of its children was slain. It lashed its tail in fury, turning its attention to the battle._

_Leliana tried to focus. There was something she needed to know about the warriors of Light. A mighty fireball flew overhead, and for a moment, lit up the two soldiers nearest to her._

_A man and a woman. The man was young, barely in his twenties, as was the woman. They wore the same armor. A symbol emblazoned across the chest plate, in bright white paint with blue trim all around. A creature reared up on its hind legs, its front claws attacking. Mighty wings sprouted from its back. Its head was that of an eagle, with a sharp, curved beak. Its body appeared to belong to a great cat._

_For a moment the two paused and stared in her direction. She thought they might have seen her as clearly as she saw them, but the moment was over almost as soon as it had begun. The man turned to the woman. "We have to get to the tower and light the beacon!" he cried. The woman glanced in Leliana's direction a moment longer, then she was after him, headed for the tower in the distance._

_The world lurched below her feet and suddenly she was loose and falling into the darkness…_

* * *

She landed on the floor with a loud, unceremonious thud. The early morning light crept into her room from the single small window. It took a moment to gather her thoughts. _It was just a dream… _she reasoned, trying to convince herself of this fact.

_It was too vivid to be 'just a dream'_, her pious side reasoned back to her logical side, arguing with herself. She sighed and shook her head. She would speak to the Revered Mother about it. The old woman was wise, she would know what to make of it.

She endured the slings and arrows of breakfast and morning prayers, then headed out to the garden, to tend her nearly dead bush. When she walked out into the light of day, her breath caught in her throat.

There, before her startled eyes, the rose glowed in full bloom. _This is not possible, last night it was only a bud!_ She blinked and looked again.

The rose glowed faintly with a soft light. Or maybe it was just the warmth of the morning's rays. Whatever it was, Leliana finally found true peace. This beautiful bloom was a gift from the Maker.

Her first instinct was to pick it. She reached down to pluck it away from the dead rosebush. Sharp pain stabbed her index finger. She looked at it carefully as a single drop of blood, the same deep color as the crimson rose, formed from a pinprick hole in her digit. She brought it to her lips and licked it away. Her brow furrowed. She tasted the metallic tang of blood in her mouth.

* * *

A/N: So, with this chapter over, I believe this is the last "dark" chapter for Leliana, at least for a while. It's gonna be blue skies from here on out! :) But, meanwhile, what's become of the Lady Cousland?


	11. Unlikely Alliance

Author's Note: Bioware owns it, I just borrow it for my own little imaginations. ;)

-The Rose's Thorn-

Chapter 11: Unlikely Alliance

He knocked on the door, gently, at first, then a bit louder when there was no answer. He could hear her choked sobs through the wooden door. He cracked the door open just a bit. She faced away from him, lying on her bed with her head buried in her pillow. The sight wrenched his heart. She would always be his daughter, but now she was no longer a child. She was a woman, and she wailed with the utter hopelessness of one who had lost everything she had ever held dear. His own tears threatened at the realization that it was partly his own fault.

He had failed to keep Howe in check, and now, his only recourse for alliance was to arrange his only daughter, his Pup, to Howe's eldest son. He let himself in quietly, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew he had failed her as a father. Would she resent him? Did she…_hate_ him? He swallowed the lump in his throat. He took a few nervous steps forward. He knelt at the edge of the bed and stroked her in a soothing gesture, running his hand from her head all the way down her back to her waist and back again.

"Pup?" he asked, after clearing his throat, "won't you come down for supper?"

"Not hungry," she said into the pillow.

"Nan made your favorite," he coaxed, " Seared halla steaks with buttered sweet bread,"

When she made no move to get up, he altered his tactic.

"Come now, you've had a good cry, but it's been all day, and you need to eat," he stated in his most fatherly tone. She sniffled and rubbed at her face with her hands. She sat up and turned to face him.

Bryce Cousland smiled. They both knew she held the key to his heart, but the Teyrn of Highever still had ultimate authority over his household. He did not overbear them. Instead, it was his kindness that earned his family's respect. Spoiled though she was, Elissa Cousland would always mind her father, if no one else.

"Papa…I loved her…" she said, eyes darting away, unable to meet his. He lifted her chin in his hand.

"You're a woman now, Pup." he affirmed, "What's more, you're a Cousland. I am sorry, but I must side with your mother. You have a decision to make."

She met his gaze, then, questioning him with bloodshot eyes. Her brows came together as she searched for words. "Are you…_ashamed_ of me, father?"

Her words hit him with the raw force of an arrow to the heart. He closed his arms around her and pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin. He closed his eyes to keep the tears in. "I love you, Pup." He eased away so he could look her fully in the eye. "You've grown into a fine young woman. I am so proud of you," he said, eyes beaming with complete sincerity. One corner of her mouth twitched up in a shy half-smile, the ghost of a dimple creasing her cheek.

_Grrrrroooowwwlll…_

"Papa, I lied…," she said. His brows arched in interest. "I _am_ hungry," she explained. She glanced down at her abdomen as it let loose another angry protest. "_Very_ hungry."

The teyrn laughed and kissed her on the forehead. "I'll leave you to ready then," he said as he rose and turned towards the door.

"Papa?"

"Hmm?" he asked, his hand hovering above the doorknob.

"I've decided… Howe, it will be Howe."

He nodded once, slowly. "I will send word to the Arl, immediately."

As he turned to leave, she stopped him once more with her words and the intonation of her voice. "One condition, Father."

The teyrn paused.

"That he court me properly. I can hardly be expected to fall in love with him when I don't even like him, now can I?"

The teyrn considered her words for a long moment. He seemed to find some logic in them, as he nodded his head absently in silent agreement.

"I shall inform your mother, then. See you at supper, Pup."

He closed the door behind himself, giving her back her privacy. She sighed and settled back down onto the bed. It could take at least a year or two to allow for all the pomp and ritual involved in proper courtship. Mother Cousland would be furious, no doubt, but at least she had bought herself some time.

OOOOOOO

_Oh, this is all wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong! Maker's Breath, why did I even agree to this?_

She paced steadily in the sitting room making tight, anxious circles. The space felt small, far too enclosed for her liking. It was only a trick of her mind. The sitting room was easily thirty paces square, but her strides were long and quick. She covered the ground from one end to the other with a speed her preoccupied mind could not account for. Her throat felt like she had just swallowed a sack full of sand. Her hands sweated profusely, she was shaking.

Trumpets outside announced the young lord's arrival. Her heart sped up as she ran too the window. His carriage wheeled through the gates. A violent knot twisted her insides and a cold shiver ran up her neck. Her knees dropped out from beneath her. The thought of what she had agreed to not a fortnight ago, made her sick. Her stomach lurched involuntarily. Half-digested breakfast made a wet, mucky puddle on the floor.

Sabre, the ten-week-old Mabari, who had not left her side since her father had gifted him to her as an engagement present the day after she had announced her intentions, bounded up to her. He cocked his head and wrinkled his brow.

"Rrrff?" he asked.

Elissa wiped her mouth and sat back on her heels. The nausea was gone now, but she still didn't feel any better. She regarded the puppy. He was most handsome. Even for one so young, she could tell he was bred from the finest of lines. His small frame was muscular, with thick bones and large feet. He had a large head which she sometimes feared might cause him to topple over, but she figured he would grow into it. His color was why she had chosen him. He was black all over, save for a few areas of tan on his legs, his brows and a shape across his chest which resembled an eagle's wingspan, full-spread.

She had felt connected to him somehow. When she looked at him it was with perfect trust and love and he gave it right back to her, and her alone. _Imprinting _was what her father had told her. He had said the hound would never tolerate anyone else, let alone obey.

The puppy sniffled the mess and was about to lick it up, when Elissa cried out in disgust and shooed him away from it. "Ugh! NO! That's disgusting!"

He stopped and whined at her, cringing and trying his best to look hurt.

"You usually don't flatter me, until after I've arrived, My Lady,"

_Oh, Maker's Blood! _She knew that voice all too well. She couldn't help the grimace on her face as she stood to greet him as civil-like as she could.

"Thomas," she stated flatly.

"Lady Cousland," he said as he gave a small polite bow.

They stared silently across the room at each other. Sabre growled low and steady, taking his cue from his master's unease, his eyes trained on the unwelcome intruder.

"Ah, a Mabari," Thomas said reaching down to pet the pup, "I've heard they're quite intelligent," Sabre snapped at the hand offered to him, his low growl turned instantly to a menacing snarl as he stalked closer to Howe in a threatening manner, backing the nobleman into a corner. "And vicious! Cousland! Call off your hound! You invited me here," Howe insisted, his voice noticeably several pitches higher.

Elissa snapped her fingers once. Sabre turned back to look at her. With a flick of her wrist, she indicated him to the corner of the room with her finger. His eyes searched her face, the set of her jaw, the narrowed eyes, thinned lips. He whined and slunk away, hanging his massive head as if he somehow knew he had committed a most grievous crime. He settled in the corner and contented himself with chewing an itchy spot for a moment, then he crossed his front legs and laid his head atop them, heaving a pouty sigh. He did not move from his spot for the remainder of Thomas' visit, but his eyes watched intently, flicking from one to the other, with inquiring curiosity as each person spoke in turn.

"He is quite…possessive of you," Thomas said, breaking the ice with a soft chuckle.

"Yes, my father has said he is the only man in Ferelden, worthy of me," she offered.

"Perhaps the only one you could command so…completely," Thomas said, his tone filled with light jest.

"He is handsome, loyal, noble, honest…what more could a Lady ask?" Elissa smirked, rather liking the thought of marrying her dog, in place of any man.

"I rather think you prefer the fact that he obeys your every word without so much as a question," Thomas shot back.

Elissa narrowed her eyes, sizing up her opponent, deciding whether or not to take that as offense. "Then perhaps, he is also the _wisest_ man in Ferelden as well," she said finally.

Thomas laughed out loud at that comment. "Indeed, Cousland, indeed," he said, settling himself comfortably on the large couch, without invitation. Elissa tried to hold back a sneer as she sat herself on the far opposite side, her nerves threatening to jump out of her skin.

After a long, awkward silence, Thomas spoke again. "I must admit, I was…surprised…when I heard the news, but I was also curious. Why, Cousland? Why me?"

"It was either you or Teagan Guerrin," she said, off-handedly, hoping the idea that she had chosen him would not be enough to encourage his already far too privileged ego.

"Ah, I see," he nodded, " I am the lesser evil?" he asked, making the statement into a question.

"Hardly," she did sneer this time, "but…I'd like to stay close to home…I don't even know who this…Teagan is," she said, admitting the facts of why she chose him over the King's uncle.

Another long pause infused the room with strain and unease. The tension in the air was thick, their civility brittle.

"Is it true what they say about you?" he asked, cocking his head to the side, "Do you bed all of your maidens? Or just the one?"

Her eyes narrowed. She wanted to wipe the smirk off his face with a swift punch, maybe break his nose, send him home bloody. She bit the inside of her cheeks to keep her sanity and to keep from flying across the couch to do just what she envisioned.

A knowing smile tugged at Howe's lips when Cousland did not offer either explanation or reply. Keen intellect flashed in his dark eyes. "So…it _is _true?" Howe continued carefully, completely unaware of the thin line he so daringly teetered along the edge of. "…I take it this is to be…a marriage of _convenience_, then?"

"Aha!" he cried and snapped his fingers. Elissa could see the knowledge in his eyes as he finally got it. "You don't plan to marry me at all! You're _stalling_!"

She smiled a goofy, guilty smile and gave him a small shrug. He sighed and threw his hands behind his head. Lacing his fingers together, he leaned back on the couch and let out a long breath. "Whew! For a moment, you had me worried, Cousland! I thought you were seriously considering…well, you know…" he sighed with great relief.

Elissa watched his body language. How the pressure seemed to drain out of him quickly and how much more, he was suddenly at ease with this new revelation. She easily deduced the most likely reason behind his dramatic reaction.

"What's her name?" she asked, matter-of-factly.

Thomas smiled and shook his head lightly. "Clever, Cousland, clever…" His eyes went distant. He smiled ruefully. "Myrion," he said. His head dropped into his hands and he dragged them down his face, pulling his features into an awkward skew. Elissa held in a chuckle at how silly he looked. She cleared her throat and regained her composure when his eyes teared, his features darkened.

"She's…with child…" he managed a shaky sigh, "My child…" he explained. His face scowled into a bitter grimace, "but, she's a commoner. My father would never allow it." He straightened up and screwed his face. "You're a Howe, my boy," he sneered in a very good impression of his father's weasely voice. The scorn with which he mocked him spoke to Elissa that it was something he had heard all his life, much like her own mother's : "You're a Cousland" speech. Perhaps they were more alike than they were different. A possibility that had never occurred to her, until now.

"What about you, Cous? Have you a lover?" he asked, offering her a chance to share her side of the matter.

"I…I-" she stopped short. She thought of Rianne and how she had been sent away, banished. The pain in heart was fresh. She grimaced. "…I _don't_." she said firmly. A furrow creased her brows. Her mind wandered. Blue eyes filled her vision, darker than Rianne's. There was more of a greenish tinge to them, aquamarine, like the tides that rolled ashore from the Waking Sea.

_Why am I thinking of her? She's a… _there were a lot of words to choose from to describe the woman's occupation, but Elissa could not think of her in those vulgar terms. She chose to leave to the thought unfinished, than to think any more about what she did for a living. She thought instead of the first time she'd seen her, in the light of the bright summer morning, the sun glinting off her waterfall locks. Her ears rang with the remembered enchantment of the woman's voice. A smile crossed her face when she envisioned her radiant smile. She sighed with regret.

"What are we going to do, Thom?" she asked. The familiarity in her address of him, surprised them both. She had never used any sort of endearment towards him, nor him towards her. His brows rose in shock. He recovered quickly, the maturity he'd learnt over the years accepted her sublime offer of friendship, tentative though it was. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend_, his father had taught him, _at least until the enemy is slain…_

He considered the pained look on her face. Then he spoke. "We," he said pointing at himself, then her for emphasis, " are going to do all in our power to stall for time, until you or I, or both of us, can figure a way out of this mess," he suggested.

"Fine," she said, offering her hand to him. He took it and they shook on it. "It is agreed, then." she said. The deal was done. The pact was made. She felt much better, assured now, that he would play along. She had indeed bought herself some time. Now she just needed to figure out what in Andraste's name she was going to _do._

OOOOOOO

A/N: Sorry it's short. This one surprised me. I was going to write Howe as a nasty lech, but... it didn't end up that way. I also wanted to write this scene on a cliff overlooking the ocean and as she watches the waves roll in, she's thinking of Leliana, but... that didn't happen either. Strange how a story takes on a will of it's own sometimes.


	12. Mischief

Author's Note: Sorry about the wait. I had to break this off, otherwise it would have been way too long, and I've kept you all waiting for a while anyway. enjoy the filler.

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch. 12 Mischief

He sneered, glancing down his long nose at his subordinate, his lips twisting upward and peeling back to reveal a set of ghastly white teeth that glared with an almost feral intent at the slighter man. His eyes held a frightening gleam, like those of a hawk upon its prey. He stalked closer to the servant. "What do you _mean_, you can't find him?"

The short, weakly peasant quivered on his willowy, underfed legs. His stammering voice came out in a mousy squeak. "H-he was not in his room, m-m-milord…a-a-and his b-bed hasn't been slept in…" he gulped between shivers of fear. The Arl was known to have a fierce temper and a swift retribution when crossed. The little man dared a glance upward, his hands wringing his dirty leather cap, his nerves jumping and twitching at every nuance from the Arl.

Said Arl swooped in and grabbed the man, tightening the collar of his shirt with one hand and forcing the man to look at him with the other. The servant nearly wet himself at the sudden viciousness behind the dark, intelligent eyes that stared at him with a barely veiled threat. "Then _find_ my lieutenant. You _can_ manage _that_, can't you?" The Arl shoved him away with a disgusted look and sneered again.

"Y-y-yes, Ser! Right away, Ser!" the little man stumbled over his feet in his haste to put distance between himself and the Arl and to carry out his new task.

Rendon Howe paced to the window. He stared out at the Waking Sea, thinking, plotting, strategizing. This twist had certainly thrown a hammer into his plans. He would have to adjust his tactic.

OOOOOOO

Elissa Cousland strained with all her might. It was no use, his grip was infallible. She twisted her body and threw her weight to one side. She pulled, digging her heels into the earth where she sat and pushed with her legs for leverage. She grunted with the strain, sweat breaking across her brow and rolling down her face in tiny rivulets. Her grip was slowly, but surely, loosening.

Her opponent growled back and twisted his massive head, shaking from side to side and pulling backward with all the muscles in his sizeable body. Finally, after much effort, he won, wresting the toy from her hands. He mock-growled in satisfaction and celebrated by shaking the length of rope violently.

Elissa laughed. Every fiber in her being loved him more at the sight. He was so cute when he did that! How could anyone call him ugly? He seemed to sense her eyes on him and paused, cocking his head with the rope in his mouth, his ears perked to attention. She smiled at him, reaching to scratch the divot between his eyes where his skull and muzzle met. Maybe it was an odd place to scratch a dog, but she had always figured he could reach anywhere else by himself if need be, and Sabre himself seemed to appreciate it. His eyelids lowered and he muttered a low sound that was as close to a cat's purr as she had ever heard from a dog.

The warhound tensed. Elissa turned around to see her brother approaching them from across the field. He smiled and threw his hand up to signal her. She waved back. Sabre relaxed, his tail wagging in a frenzied rush of happiness. Fergus caught up to them and was accosted by Sabre who nudged the rope toy into his hand.

"Oh, no, fella, I'm not falling for _that _one," he said, patting the hound on the top of the head. Sabre whined, trying to shove the toy into Fergus's hand, which the nobleman ignored entirely. It was Sabre's favorite game, and Elissa had taught it to him, but now that he was no longer a puppy, he was stronger than everyone he tried to play with and Fergus was not at all interested in the prospect of another dislocated shoulder. Though the castle healer had not had trouble repairing the damage or replacing the limb to its proper alignment, it was the _pain_ that Fergus had not forgotten.

He shook the memory away, recalling the reason he had come looking for her. "Lissie, I just heard word from the messenger. I thought you should hear first, before Mom and Dad find out."

Elissa frowned. She didn't like the tone of his voice, or the worried look in his eyes.

OOOOOOO

The lieutenant stood firmly at attention, arms laced behind his back. He gave a small nod each time the Arl finished a sentence. When the nobleman's rant was over, he remained a moment longer, awaiting his instructions.

"I want him found, and brought back to me…_alive_."

"Yes, Ser!" the soldier bowed quick and deep and turned to leave.

"Oh, and do what you will with the woman," he added, "she is…_unnecessary_…"

The lieutenant nodded, his resolve waning slightly. The Arl's eyes turned harsh, his lips set thin. "As for the _brat_…" The soldier paused, and felt his stomach churn at the murderous look in the Arl's eyes.

"Kill it."

"Y-yes, …Ser…" he muttered, feeling the bile rise up from his stomach. He left without another word, making his way quick, to drown out the horror of the Arl's final instruction.

OOOOOOO

"Are you certain, Fergus?" Elissa queried, tossing a glance towards him where he sat next to her in the grass. She almost wanted to disbelieve her brother. This was a definite setback, as far as her plan was concerned. She felt betrayed. The shield she had hidden from her mother behind for the past year and a half, was suddenly gone. She felt exposed. It frightened her to know she would soon have to face her mother's plan, without a way to deny or postpone her wishes.

Fergus nodded, his lips parting in an apologetic grimace of a smile. "The messenger said he left the night before, and no one has seen him in over a week, though the Arl has sent a squadron to retrieve him, and the money."

Elissa laughed unexpectedly, earning a quizzical expression from her brother. She shook her head absently. "I still can't believe it…that _bastard_ ran off with my dowry! I suppose I should have known better than to trust a _Howe._" She chuckled, amused.

"Then you're not angry? That's a first. I'd have thought you'd be a little more upset about it."

Her face turned to seriousness at once. She half-smiled. "Not about this. Thom's not so bad. He was in a desperate situation. Should I blame him for that?"

"He did leave you high and dry. Now what are you going to do as far as Mom's plan?"

She shrugged. "Don't worry, I'll think of something. For his child's sake, I pray the Arl's men don't find him."

Sabre lifted his massive muzzle and growled. He stood and moved to sit protectively in front of his mistress. The siblings turned their attention to the servant's approach. A young teenaged boy, his face just beginning to sprout a few sparse hairs bowed before them.

"My Lord, My Lady, luncheon is served."

"Thank you," Fergus replied.

Elissa's face alighted and she jumped up from the ground. "Thank you, thank Nan, and the thank the _Maker! _I'm starved!" she cried.

Fergus laughed as he slowly got up. "Really, sis, I don't know who has the larger appetite…you, or your hound!"

His playful words earned him a generous swat to the back of the head. He laughed louder and the siblings chased each other back to the castle proper.

OOOOOOO

_Mmmmm…._

The smell hit her before anything else. She and Fergus entered the kitchen through the side door. She inhaled deeply of whatever it was Nan had cooked. Elissa smiled at the matron as she watched the old woman busy herself with serving her and her brother. Either of them would have helped, but Nan insisted on doing it all herself. _I'm not quite an invalid… not yet_, she would say.

Elissa realized that despite the old woman's somewhat sassy demeanor, she loved the Cousland siblings as if they were her own children. They often ate with her, as they did now, in the kitchen, as opposed to the formal dining room, unless of course, there was a special occasion at which their presence was required. Elissa had always thought the woman's name was Nancy or Nadine, or some such, until one day Nan had told her that her real name was in fact, Sarah. When Elissa was very young, she could not pronounce the name, so she called her Nana, and from there, it shortened to Nan, and everyone in the castle called her that ever since.

Her mouth watered as Nan (Sarah, she reminded herself) set her plate down in front of her. She licked her lips, staring down at the heaping plate of _something _that smelled so delicious, yet she had never seen before.

"I thought you might like to try some Denerim food. Go ahead and taste, see if you like it," Nan urged before she popped a forkful into her own mouth.

Elissa took a small bite, and then followed it immediately with two more. She chewed rapidly and swallowed. Then she shoved more into her mouth and moaned in appreciation, her eyes rolling back in her head.

"I think she likes it, Nan," Fergus said, smiling around his fork.

OOOOOOO

Rendon Howe slammed his fist down on the desk. The aging wood shuddered under the mighty force of the noble's wrath. "Andraste's bloody _cunt_! How hard is it to find my son?" he demanded.

"We…we've looked everywhere, sire. The treasury grows smaller by the day. It w-would be…advisable, to…stop looking…ser,"

The Arl rose to his feet with a speed that belied his aging body. He maneuvered around the desk with a deadly, viperous haste and drew a dagger he kept on his belt. He backed the lieutenant against the wall, shoving his body and keeping it pressed to the wall with his left forearm. In his right hand, he dug the tip of the blade into the soft flesh of the man's neck, just under the pulse point. The man tried to swallow and only caused the blade to pierce him. A drop of blood oozed down the dagger's edge.

"I will decide what is advisable, understand?"

"Y-yes. Yes, Ser!"

With a disgusted grunt, the Arl released the man, shoving him hard away. The soldier needed no further instruction at the moment. He could tell by the look on the Arl's face, that his best bet for survival, was to leave. Now. He made haste for the door and hurriedly let himself out of the room.

The door to the Arl's study burst open a moment later, and a harried-looking young cadet ran in, his face flushed, his breaths heavy from running. "Sire!" he bowed quickly. "Urgent news from the Teyrn of Highever!"

"Speak freely, lad, what news have you?"

"The darkspawn have risen in the South and are making their march Northward! The Teyrn requests your assistance in aiding the Grey Wardens, and asks for any troops you can spare!" he managed to sputter it all out in one breath.

Howe nodded to him. "Yes…of course…" he said, "Gather the men and find my lieutenant," he instructed. A plan slowly took form in the Arl's sinister mind. It was a simple plan. He would visit the Teyrn in Highever, a man whom, by all outward appearances, he admired and respected.

In secret, the Arl _loathed_ him. _He_ should have been the one to win Eleanor's heart. Both young men had vied for the lady's affections in their younger days, but the victor was Ser Cousland , the more handsome, of course. It had been the final straw in a long string of events that had caused Rendon to hate his lifelong friend. The first, and most notable offence had occurred when Rendon had learned as a young lad, that the land upon which Highever stood, had originally belonged to the Howes. Long before the land was even called Ferelden.

He began to lust for the Cousland land, to have it back under Howe control. It served as the only port between the western edge of the Waking Sea and Denerim in the east. Amaranthine, though a busy fishing town, was in way suitable for a port. The jettys and rock wall along the entire coast was far too dangerous for ships to venture close. All trade from Orlais, Nevarra, the Free Marches, the Imperium, the Anderfels, had to cross the Waking Sea to get to the Ferelden capital of Denerim. Highever grew prosperous and fat even, upon the fact that all would stop there to rest and restock supplies, before continuing on.

Howe stood at the window, watching the waves crash against the shore. A week's time had passed and not a hint of Thomas, not a whiff, not a scrap, not a hair, had been found. He could wait no longer. Nate was still in the Free Marches. There wasn't time to call him home and convince him to marry the young lady Cousland, but that didn't matter anymore. Fate had conspired to spin to his favor. He would tell the Teyrn that he'd sent his men to Ostagar, already, and when the Teyrn's men left, he would strike, taking down the Couslands once and for all.

He threw his head back and began to laugh, a maniacal sound that reverberated off the stone walls of the castle.

OOOOOOO

"He's _not_ ugly!" Elissa huffed, folding her arms over her chest.

"I don't care. He's being a nuisance to Nan. How is she to prepare dinner for our guests, with him underfoot? Go collect your hound!" Mother Cousland insisted.

Ser Gilmore, who had been watching the entire exchange, approached the younger lady and gripped her shoulder lightly. "Come, my Lady, I'll go with you," he offered.

"Thank you, Rory," she sighed. She glanced at him sidelong as they walked. "Why does she irk me so? She's my _mother_! Can't I get along with my own mother?" she wondered aloud.

"Perhaps, that is precisely _why_ she draws your ire, my Lady. Your personalities are, rather…_similar_." he said, with more than a little trepidation. Cousland women were known for their fiery tempers foremost above all other traits.

"I don't wish to marry, Rory, and no sooner had she found out about Thomas's disappearance, she decides Dairren would be my perfect match! You should have seen the speed with which she sent word to Landra! A hawk on the hunt would have been jealous!"

They were closer to the larder now, and could hear screams. They shared a glance and then ran the rest of the way. They burst into the larder and found no sign of Sabre, only Nan, and her two elven assistants, covered in flour and cleaning up a large mess of grain, and flour that was scattered generously all over the floor.

"That ugly hound of yours did this!" Nan shouted, pointing at Elissa, "He just ran in here and started ripping apart the supply sacks! I tried to put him outside, but he growled at me. And now he's in the larder!"

They could hear him barking in the next room, where the servants had shut him in. Elissa could only stare dumbly at Nan. Sabre had never done anything like this. Sure, he would come to the larder, hoping to cajole a few treats from Nan or the elves, but he had never been vicious towards anyone. Protective, yes, of Elissa, and even more so of Oren, but he had never attacked the castle servants. Her heart broke with a sudden horror. If he had caught the foaming mouth sickness…

Her eyes watered and she pushed the thought away, not wanting to admit what had to be done if that was the case. _You're getting ahead of yourself_, she thought.

"Come on," Ser Gilmore nudged the door open and beckoned her to follow. She swallowed the lump in her throat and entered after him.

Sabre barked happily when he saw her. He hopped around in circles, his stub tail wagging violently in a blur of motion. He certainly didn't _look_ vicious.

"Well, look at that!" Ser Gilmore laughed, "It seems we've a _ratter_ on our hands, Miss Cousland." He reached down and patted Sabre on the top of the head. "You're quite the versatile warhound, aren't you?"

Elissa glanced about the larder, now seeing the horde of giant, bloated rodent bodies, mutilated and strewn across the floor. She seemed to come out of a daze. She cocked her head at her dog. "Good boy…?" she asked absently. She was still in shock. She had been prepared to lop his head off with her own sword, though the hound seemed unaware of the fact.

Suddenly, his ears cocked back, he growled. Elissa's heart beat faster, her grip on her sword tightened. Sabre whirled and lunged at the nearest sack of grain. He dug underneath it with his paws, whining and barking his frustrations. Elissa motioned to Ser Gilmore. He followed her lead and they each came to stand on either side of the sack. On the count of three they hoisted the sack and tossed across the room.

Sabre engaged the horde of rats head on as they swarmed forth out of a giant hole in the wall. He killed one, then bit another one and shook it like a rag. It squeaked, flailing it's limbs and tail about, then it was silent, its body went limp. Elissa and Ser Gilmore made short work of the giant rats. She was amazed by their sheer size and wondered what would have happened to Nan and the other kitchen servants, if Sabre had not been there. Rats were known to carry plagues of all sorts and there was no guarantee a healer could reverse the sickness brought on by their infectious bite.

Ser Gilmore once again admired Sabre with an approving glance, his eyes giving the hound a curious roam. "Are you sure he's full-blood Mabari? With an instinct like that, I'd say he's got terrier in him."

Elissa stiffened at the perceived insult. "I have his patents, if you'd like to see," she said tersely, "He's full-blood, all the way back to Truefang."

Ser Gilmore's eyes widened. "Truefang, really?" he asked, his curiosity in the dog piqued. "Wow," he commented as he knelt down and began to peruse Sabre's muscle tone and inspect his confirmation, running his hands lightly over the dog. From what he knew, Truefang was the Mabari of legend, hound of the King's great great great great great great great, grandfather.

Many a noble would brag on their Mabari, and claim descendance from Truefang, but there were only ever six of his pups that had lived. Many were killed in the bloody wars of Ferelden's history before they could be bred, and the females were crossed with other, lesser hounds, spoiling the lineage, and bastardizing the breed. When Elissa said hers was a Truefang son, he believed her. The magnificence of her hound was unlike any he had ever seen. An air of nobility resonated around him. He also knew, Bryce Cousland never spared expense when it came to spoiling his daughter, so it was not surprising to think how pretty a silver he had paid for a true Mabari warhound, descended from the line of the ancient king's hound.

"Well, I suppose we're done here," she said, wiping her blade with a spare rag. She then tossed it to Gilmore, so he do the same. She headed for the door, ordering Sabre to follow her with a short, sharp whistle.

Nan, though exasperated at her experience, finally forgave Sabre, offering him a bit of pork as an apology, which he happily gobbled down. The elves had run off in fright at the mention of giant rats. Ser Gilmore was called away by a messenger, leaving Elissa alone to wander back to her mother and inform her that she had collected her _handsome_ hound, who had, in fact, _saved_ the lives of the kitchen servants with his keen instinct and sharp intellect.

Eleanor Cousland brushed the information away, as though it were a fly. She was busy talking to Lady Landra with whom she had grown up, and who had always been her best friend. Dairren had come along, of course. He smiled at Elissa and she gave a polite smile back, but her attention was drawn elsewhere at the moment.

Elissa's eyes fell upon the small woman. The elf's features were delicate, smooth. Her lips were full, kissable. The tips of her elvish ears peeked out from behind her short, blonde hair. Her eyes were perfect almond-shaped orbs of deep, forest green. _**Iona**_was her name. _Sweet Iona_.

She smiled shyly at the Cousland heiress, a timid blush painting her cheeks a pale, rosy color. She stood mostly behind Lady Landra, almost clinging to her, like a child who was in unfamiliar surroundings. She said very little, giving only a short, polite answer, and only when asked.

The teryna reminisced with her longtime friend. The two noble children, Dairren and Elissa exchanged polite conversation. When the subject of marriage came up, Elissa was caught off-guard. Her eyes subconsciously darted to Iona. She tried to gauge the elf's reaction. Iona showed nothing in her eyes. Her ears twitched once, almost imperceptible to anyone who hadn't been watching her. Elissa regarded her mother, rolling her eyes in exaggerated fashion, solely for Iona's benefit. "I can handle my _own_ affairs, mother," she said sarcastically.

"All evidence to the contrary," the teyrna shot back at her daughter, with just as much cynicism. Elissa was after all, twenty- and unmarried. It was positively _scandalous_. How the girl had managed to thwart her mother's efforts on that matter at nearly every turn, confounded the Lady Eleanor to no end. She let her daughter know it at every opportunity. She could not expect to stay in Highever for the rest of her life. Soon would come the day the teyrna would find a suitor she could not refuse.

Elissa fought to keep the smirk off her face. She knew her mother would not succeed. She had long known why. 'Twas never the young _boys_ in Castle Cousland that had ever caught her eye. 'Twas the _girls_. Granted, after Rianne had been banished, Elissa had since never had the pleasure, nor the courage to steal more than the occasional passing glance at a servant-maid. And yet, occasionally, one would stare back at her with a certain look in her eye. The same way Rianne had looked at her that night. The way Iona was looking at her now.

Her thoughts drifted back in time to the night Rianne had kissed her. That night had set Elissa's passion aflame, and had confirmed her worst fears. She was what Rianne had called _lesbian_. She recalled how her mother had walked in on them the following morning. Rianne had been sent away immediately, and the teryna's effort to marry Elissa off began in earnest. Not that she hadn't been trying since the girl had hit puberty, but after that incident it seemed to Elissa that her mother was more driven than ever on the matter.

Landra excused herself, promising to meet up with her son and Iona at supper. "Perhaps we'll retire to the study for now," Dairren suggested, glancing at Iona. The elf gave Elissa one last glance, before they both left the courtyard. Lady Landra excused herself to the Couslands. Elissa was about to follow, when her mother stopped her.

"Oh, yes, darling, I almost forgot. Your father wishes to see you. We have another guest tonight, a Grey Warden, I believe."

"Of course, Mother. I will go to him immediately, but…" she wracked her brain, searching for an excuse and cursed the words that failed her, "…I…forgot my…sewing…things…in the study…"

"Ah, well, do be quick then, you don't want to keep your father and our guest waiting, dear," her mother said, miraculously believing Elissa's weak excuse to follow Iona to the study.

OOOOOOO

The elf turned at Elissa's footsteps, her elven ears picking up the sound long before the lady Cousland had entered. She smiled at the noblewoman. "That's a wonderful dog," she said, tentatively, "he seems very noble, and intelligent,"

Sabre gave a loud, happy bark in agreement. Elissa smiled.

"Greetings once again, My Lady," the elf said politely.

Elissa gulped, feeling her hands tremor a little at the mischievous thoughts playing out in her mind. "Y-you are very pretty, if I may say so," she blurted out. _Damn the Maker! I've never been so bold, what in Thedas is wrong with me?_

"My Lady is very kind. Thank you," Iona said, as a blush crept into her cheeks. Elissa shuffled nervously from foot to foot. There was a certain tension between the innocent exchange. She knew from experience now what it was, and from Iona's similar reactions, that they both felt it.

"I haven't seen many elven ladies-in-waiting," Elissa said. Then she felt a pang of remorse for saying it. Iona most likely received a lot of negative attention for the fact alone, but Elissa hadn't meant her words in any derogatory sort of way.

_Maker's Breath!_ The sun-colored dress perfectly accentuated her small, perky bosom, and clung tightly to her narrow waist. The choker collar she wore drew Elissa's attention back to her neck. Her thoughts shouted at her, arguing, until she couldn't decide what she'd like to do better, kiss her neck?, caress her breasts?, or lose herself in those soft, pink lips? She was mesmerized by the lips as the elf said something she wasn't paying attention to. She managed to catch the tail end of the question, and slowly she pieced together a few of the words that had come through.

"If she found a maid like you, I might encourage her," Elissa teased.

"You are…very kind, My Lady. I am nobody special," she said, turning red, "You make me blush,". Iona tucked a lock of hair behind her ear in a nervous manner.

"Perhaps we should get to know each other better," Elissa suggested.

"Aren't we doing just that?" Iona asked. Then she added, with another nervous hair tuck, "What else did you…have in mind?"

"Something more…_intimate_?" Elissa ventured boldly, "Later on…in my room?"

"I…I see," understanding flashed in the pretty elf's eyes. "I think I might like that," she nodded. She closed the distance between herself and the young noble. She leaned in and whispered. "If I come to your door, once everyone is asleep…would that be agreeable, My Lady?"

"Please, call me Elissa."

The elf nodded. She reached up and placed a quick kiss against the lady Cousland's lips. "Until tonight then," she whispered. Then she left. Elissa swallowed back against the dryness in her throat. Her body thrummed with giddy excitement and anticipation. _Ah, but first, Father wants to see me_, she thought, shoving the more mischievous ideas to the back of her consciousness.

OOOOOOO

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the update. I'll have more up soon. Thanks for reads, reviews, and faves!


	13. The Hunter

Author's Note: Sorry about the wait, I was sick most of last week so that's why it's short. I probably should've put this through a second draft, but it's been so long, I wanted to update and not keep you all waiting.

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch. 13 The Hunter

Duncan, the Grey Warden Elissa had met two years prior at the Grand Tourney, stood before her father, the looks on their faces revealing that they conversed about a most serious matter. Ser Gilmore stood with them, nodding solemnly, and on occasion, adding a few comments of his own.

And, much to her dismay, Arl Howe stood with them. He grinned at her when she entered, and it reminded her of a weasel. There was a certain danger behind those dark eyes. It made her shiver subconsciously.

"Ah, Pup, you're here. Good." her father said, motioning her to his side.

"I'll be leaving you in charge of the castle tomorrow. Fergus will leave for Ostagar tonight with the main contingent of our guard, and I shall leave in the morning with the reserve troops. The Arl's men have been delayed, and the darkspawn horde amasses as we speak. I'm afraid there's little time for goodbyes. Can I trust that you'll keep things in order?"

She nodded solemnly. "I'll do my best, Father,"

"My Lord, if I may," Duncan cut in, glancing at the teyrn. He took a step forward. His eyes cut to Elissa, then back to her father, "I would say she is better suited to battle than politics."

Bryce folded his arms over his chest. "She is my _youngest_ child, and my _only _daughter."

Arl Howe spoke up from behind them, his weasel-like countenance disrupting the peaceful conversation, and seeming to add a flavor of discord to it, just by the piercing, grating sound of his voice. "I believe my son, Thomas, would agree with the Warden, Bryce,"

His words were meant for her father, but he kept his eyes on Elissa. She shivered, the menace in his eyes chilled her to the bone. He would not threaten her in front of the teyrn, but though well veiled, it was still there. Something instinctive told her to be wary of him, it was certain he must have some plan up his sleeve, some devious deceit, though about what, she could not tell. Not simply from a look.

Bryce Cousland sighed. He spoke to both men. "I've not so many children that I'll see them all off to war."

"Very well, milord." Duncan said, deferring to the teyrn, but his eyes held on Elissa sharing a knowing look with her, while he took a step back, to stand where he had been.

"I meant no offense, Bryce. It was merely an …_observation_," Howe retorted.

"I will miss you, Papa," Elissa said. She threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely, hoping with everything in her being that it would not be the last time. "I should go bid my brother farewell," she said, as she took her leave of the men, and let them continue their talk of war and strategy and how best to flank the bulk of the darkspawn horde.

She wandered aimlessly through the halls, letting her feet guide her body through muscle memory while her mind contemplated her situation. She did not hear the footsteps approaching behind her. She would not have heard them in any case, until her pursuer was nearly upon her.

"_Psst…Izzy,"_ A voice whispered, but she appeared not to hear. It was not surprising. She was likely lost in her own thoughts.

"_**Psst…Izzy!"**_ The voice whispered louder. She whirled around.

"What? …Damien!" Her eyes were impossibly wide as he grinned from ear to ear. She slowly closed the distance towards him, her eyes locked on his face. She reached up to touch it. "What happened to your _face_?"

His grin grew wider. "You haven't seen me in months, and that's all you can think of to say?" He laughed. "It's the mark of adulthood. I've had my first successful hunt. The entire alienage is throwing a feast tonight with the buck I killed. He was huge!"

He spread his arms wide in an animated gesture that surely had to be an exaggeration. If he had truly caught a buck that large, how could he, a lone elf, have possibly carried it back to Highever?

She quirked a brow in disbelief. "You're not lying are you?" she asked. She touched his cheek again, rubbing it with her thumb as a mother would smooth away a smudge on a child's face. The mark remained, stark black in contrast to his pale elven complexion. "It's not paint?" she asked.

"No, of course it's real, Izzy. I told you so," he assured her.

She examined the markings he'd chosen for himself, with the gentle approval of a lifelong friend. The pattern of lines swirled around his right eye, beginning at the middle of his forehead and winding down his temple to encompass his cheek and ending at the curve of his jaw. There was a smaller, matching mark on his left cheek. "You chose well," she said as they walked in step, "it suits you..._leth-_al-_lan_."

He laughed at her butchered attempt at elvish, his voice naturally beautiful, ringing through the castle halls. She had actually improved quite dramatically in her understanding of the words, but her pronunciation still left much to be desired.

"So… come eat with us?" he made it a question, though it wasn't necessary. He knew his friend could not resist fresh halla steaks.

"Of course," she smiled and hugged him. "Oh, it's so good to see you again," she mused, patting him affectionately on the back.

OOOOOOO

She wasn't one for long, emotional goodbyes, so she gave Fergus a quick hug, wished him luck, and left him to deal with their mother's fret and worry. She chuckled softly to herself as her nephew's question replayed in her mind. _What's a wench? Is that what you pull on to get the bucket out of the well?_ She smiled. What a darling, sweet boy he was. Not that she would ever consider having one of her own, but it was a gentle pride that filled her bosom and swelled her heart, knowing she was his _favo-right auntie._

The sun dipped lower in the western sky, painting the streets with a warm autumn glow, and casting long shadows in it's farewell kiss. A faint breeze caught her nose from the direction of the alienage. Cooked meat. And whoever was cooking, certainly knew how. Her mind continued it's pleasant meandering as she made her way to the elvish festivities.

She was surprised to say the least, when her eyes caught sight of the open square. More elves than she had ever seen at one time took to the square, moving their small, lithe bodies in a graceful dance that seemed to pantomime the story of the elven hunter-god. In the middle of the floor, Damien was surrounded by several comely young elven maids, all vying for his attentions. Elissa smiled when she saw the cocky grin on his face.

"Would the beautiful shem care to dance?"

She turned her head to the musical sound of a young, male elf. He stood about a foot and a half shorter than her. His blonde hair was cut short, exposing the full length of his sharply pointed ears. Dark blue eyes bored into hers with unabashed lust. He was old enough to shave, obviously, though the smooth, unwrinkled perfection of his skin belied his true age. Nature favored all the elves in that way, it was true. Still, the sudden appearance of the unknown man, befuddled her.

"What? I-…I…?" was all she could manage.

The elf smiled in a teasing manner, as though he knew he was unequivocally handsome, and fully expected her to reply in the affirmative. "Yes,…you-you." he gestured, pointing at her with his finger. He splayed his hand and glanced around them. " I see no other beautiful shems nearby…do you?"

She blushed deep red, feeling the heat climb up her neck. The elf smiled. "I would first know your name, ser elf," she said.

"Ah, of course," he said, " I'm Celdon," he offered with a graceful, sweeping bow. Without waiting for an answer, he grasped both her hands in his and led her to the square, walking fully backwards, and occasionally throwing a quick glance over his shoulder so he wouldn't bump into anyone.

The dance was not one that she knew. She struggled to keep up with his sinewy, twisting movements. This sensuous form of dance was far from something easy, like the Remigold. Just as she thought that, she felt a crunch under her foot. A pained expression from Celdon told her why. She quickly moved away from him and apologized for the third time. He just smiled, though the pain on his face still showed.

"Is it…broken?" she asked.

He tested it, winced, and tested it again. "Not for your lack of trying, I'm afraid."

"I am sorry…dancing…is not my best skill," she apologized again, managing a faint blush of embarrassment.

"How about drinking?" he offered, arching an eyebrow, the gleam in his eyes suggesting a tone of challenge.

Elissa shrugged. "If you don't mind a bruised ego in the morning, I'll drink you under the table, ser elf."

"Aha! We'll see about that!" he chuckled.

OOO ELEVEN PINTS LATER OOO

Celdon, she had learned, was a Dalish elf. He had met Damien when their aravel had passed close to Highever last year. Damien had been itching to get out of the alienage, not wanting to spend the rest of his life as a blacksmith, like his father. The hahren of the alienage made arrangements with the hahren of Celdon's tribe. It was shortly after this that Damien had left to learn the ways of the Dalish and see if he truly wished to leave the city life behind. Celdon was a hunter of great renown among his tribe, and it was he who had tutored Damien in the way of the bow.

This was something Elissa had always wondered about. If the elves were truly so isolationist, then how could they possibly not have become inbred by now? She finally learned the answer from Celdon. Part of the reason the tribes moved around so much was to find new initiates from unrelated bloodlines. It was also why the tribes had split from one large group of Dalish, into several hundred smaller groups. Celdon's tribe was here now, and those were the faces she had not recognized. The comings and goings of a few dozen elves was nothing to alert the teyrn about, so she had not known there were any Dalish here today. It was all very interesting. She would have to remember to speak to Brother Aldous about it tomorrow. For now, she would enjoy the celebration honoring her best friend, though she had not yet had a chance to speak with him.

Somehow, the two drunken fools had made it to the square again and stumbled through the steps as Elissa tried to teach Celdon the Remigold. He seemed to be having as much trouble with it as she'd been having earlier with the elvish dances. Celdon swayed with her in merry unison, the only thing keeping the other one up was each other.

After they both landed in a sprawling heap of limbs, they made a joint decision that perhaps they should just sit. It would not stop the world from spinning, but they were in no danger of falling down again. So they sat there, in the middle of the square, laughing at the moon.

Celdon moved closer. Elissa showed no response for she did not recognize the subtle action for what it was, a slight movement to reposition himself. He moved towards her. It took a moment to register, for she was drunk, and he almost landed the kiss, before she pulled away from him, startled.

"What? No!" she blurted out, scooting her rump back with her hands and drawing her knees up after.

A flicker of confusion mixed with anger passed through his eyes, before it was replaced with reason. His initial thought was that the noble shem woman would not deign to kiss an elf, but higher reasoning suggested that if such was the case, she wouldn't even be here now. So the only conclusion he could draw was that he had crossed some shem line that he shouldn't have.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, cocking his head to the side, studying her face for the subtleties of her response that would reveal the truth behind whatever she said.

"I…you…" she flushed again and he could not tell why. She shook her head. "I…it's not…you're very handsome…" she said, and something told him she was not entirely convinced of it. She fidgeted with her hands and would not look at him.

An elf, by the look of the ears, came to stand over them with hands on hips. The angle was wrong, and the sharp upward movement of her head caused Elissa's stomach to lurch. She fought the bile rising in her throat and managed to hold it down, but only barely so.

"Are you going to be ill, My Lady?" Iona asked, as she helped her to her feet. Elissa shook her head. Celdon was completely ignored by both women, at least until he managed to get to his own feet. Then Iona whirled on him. "And you, Cel! Shame on you for getting her this drunk!" She beat him over the head with admonishing slaps which he ducked away from, and tried to deflect with his arms.

Elissa giggled. It was hilarious to her. They looked to be the proper wife and hen-pecked husband. A thought occurred to her. "Wait…you know him?"

Both elves turned their attention back to the young noblewoman. Iona spoke first. "Cel, is…known for his…" she paused, shooting daggers at the other elf with her eyes, " loose affections," she finished. To him, she said, "Your hahren would be displeased,"

A long awkward pause passed between them. Awkward for Elissa because she didn't understand what was happening. Something unspoken seemed to happen between the two elves. Their eyes flickered, their ears twitched, Iona's hard, Celdon's softly, and more often. Finally he ducked his head and averted his eyes from Iona. "I didn't know she was yours," he said, "My apologies." Iona did not reply. She merely grabbed Elissa by the elbow and led her away.

"Wait…" the noble protested, throwing a glance back over her shoulder at Celdon, "did I miss something?" When Iona pointedly ignored her, she realized that she had indeed missed something, though she was clueless as to what it was. "What did he mean by that?" she asked.

Iona replied with, "Have you eaten?" The question took her completely by surprise. She paused dead in her tracks. Her brows knit together, scrunching up hard in the middle of her forehead. She was silent a long time.

"Well?" Iona asked.

"Huh? What?"

"I'll take that as a no, then." Iona smirked and led her to a long wooden table. They found an empty space along the wooden bench that gave just enough room for them to squish in beside each other.

Fresh plates were laid before them as soon as they sat down. Elissa stared at hers in a drunken awe. Food was piled high on her plate and there was a juicy, tender steak as thick as her wrist. She wasn't sure she could eat it all… but she was hungry, so she would at least try.

With each bite of food that went down, she was able to think more clearly, as the heavy food did it's job to soak up the ale in her belly. Iona was patient, and they conversed in detail about Iona's life in the alienage.

Elissa was surprised to learn that she had a daughter, and that the father was gone. "She has my eyes," the elven maid mused, a small prideful smile adorning her lips.

"Then it can be certain that she will be as beautiful as you, when she is grown," Elissa countered, feeling much more grounded in reality with the food that now filled her. A cocky smirk curled her lips slightly.

"My Lady…" Iona murmured, a hint of pleading in the soft tone of her voice. "Maybe we should…retire for the night?"

"Agreed." Elissa's smile slowly spread wide, showing all of her teeth. The lust in her eyes was quite a provocative sight, and Iona felt herself ache with the desire for another's touch, a feeling she hadn't known since before her daughter was born. Her hand trembled when Elissa's grasped it and together they made their way hastily and as quietly as they could to the noble's bedchamber.


	14. Highever, Fallen

Author's Note: Phew! What a long one! I should warn you also, that it's pretty violent.

-UPDATE- 6-14-10: Just broke 10,000 hits on this story today! omfg! I should write a one-shot in celebration. What would you like it to be? 8-D srsly, folks, less than three! 3 my peeps 3...aww, no "less than" in story edit...oh well, its the thought that counts,right? PM me with story ideas/requests. it can be as silly, fluffy, whatev, as you want. the most popular one will get a one-shot. deadline is either till I can get ch.15 finished or the end of the week, whichever comes first. okay...go!

-The Rose's Thorn-

Chapter 14: Highever, Fallen

Elissa's heart raced to keep up with the adrenaline flowing through her veins. Her lips and tongue worked feverishly to draw breathy moans from the elf. Her thoughts swarmed with wonder as she tasted the sweet, foresty scent of elvish lips. Iona pulled away from her. Her eyes opened slowly as she took a few deep breaths. "My Lady…" she whispered, her eyes filled with a desperate need as she led Elissa to her own bed.

This was different, Elissa noted. When she had made love with Rianne, it was tender and they took their time learning the feel of each others' skin. Iona was different. She was forceful, demanding, pressing her lips hard against the noble's, seeking out her tongue like a scent hound. This was definitely not the shy elf she had met earlier that morning.

Iona guided Elissa to sit on the bed, pressing her hands down none too gently on her shoulders. She smiled and kissed the noble with greater ease, they were now equal in height. Gentle hands held the elf in a delicate grip as the smaller woman climbed on top of her. She pressed the noble down and the other woman submitted willingly, eager for every caress from the soft elvish mouth.

Clothes were shed quickly in desperation to feel hot, naked skin pressed close. Smooth satin warmth. Elissa fumbled with the closure of Iona's bra. _Maker's Breath!, _she hated these things. It was bad enough trying to secure her own on every morning, and truth told, she would go without if she could, but alas, her mother had told her for years now, that if she did, they would sag to her knees, given time.

Iona chuckled softly. She took Elissa's hands in her own and ran them lightly over her breasts and down lower. She lingered over her stomach, playing along her hips, allowing time to drive the tension in Elissa's trembling hands to a frantic level. "Hmm," she purred in Elissa's ear, guiding her hands beneath her smallclothes. "Your touch feels so good, My Lady," she whispered, leaning her head into Elissa's shoulder.

OOOOOOO

Elven ears twitched in deep sleep. Something was wrong. There was shouting. The clang of steel on steel. It was too early for the soldiers to be training. From the cool breeze on the air, it was still night.

Violent jostling awoke him suddenly. "Damien! Wake up! They're coming, hurry! We have to get out of here!" He jolted up to see Iracene, his sister. He didn't know what was going on, but the distress in her eyes told him immediately that something was _seriously_ wrong. He dressed himself without being told and she explained in a hushed whisper, "The teyrnir's been taken, the city invaded, I don't know by who, but they're rounding up all the elves, we need to leave now!"

He grabbed his sword and shield, then thought about it and put on his leather armor. "Go," he told her, kissing her quickly on the cheek, " and don't look back."

"No, Damien!" she whispered loudly, grasping his hand and pulling him back, "Come with us!"

"I can't!," he replied, gently removing her hands, " I have to warn them!" he said, as he shoved her out the back entrance to their small house. She didn't have to ask who he meant. The Couslands, of course, the teyrn's family.

She cried, and watched him for a moment as he rushed off through the dark alley toward the castle. _Maker's speed, brother_, she thought. She heard soldiers off in the distance, and found her feet quickly, breaking into a run.

OOOOOOO

Iona trembled above Elissa while the noble caressed her aching need. She kissed her to stifle a passionate moan. It would not do for the entire castle to hear them. Lady Landra had always been kind, but for a such a transgression as laying with a noble, the elf might find herself at the very least, unemployed, and at worst, perhaps beaten, though she doubted Landra would condone the latter option.

She paused, cocking her head to the side. She thought she had heard something, but now there was only silence. Perhaps it was nothing. Elissa's caress drew her back into the moment at hand. Her eyes rolled back into her head. She found the noble's lips again.

A low growl from the foot of the bed got both womens' attention. The sound rose higher in the hound's throat and he stood suddenly, pacing to the door and snarling menacingly. He barked loudly. The elf disengaged herself, allowing the noble's hand to slip from her smallclothes. She heard footfalls in the hall. Someone was coming.

"You're dog is making such a racket," she observed, as Elissa hopped out of the bed and slid her trousers on in a fluid motion. The noble fumbled around in the dark, searching for her shirt. She had just tugged it over her head when a sharp knock came at the door.

"I'll see who it is," Iona offered, still standing in her smallclothes.

"NO! DON'T!", Elissa cried. She grabbed for her sword which she kept under her bed. It wasn't Fang, she had broken him against the wooden training dummies in a rush of self-loathing, shortly after Fergus had forced her to discover who she truly was. The blade was only a generic infantry issue, red steel, but it would do.

She hurried forward. The door burst open just as Iona stood in front of it. In a split second, that the door swung open, Elissa saw two soldiers. They were not Highever soldiers. The one at the door retracted the leg he had used to kick the door in. He was reaching for his sword. She tightened her grip on the red steel blade. She grasped Iona's shoulder to move her out of the way. As soon as she touched her, the elf crumpled and fell backward. Elissa glanced beyond the first soldier and saw the one at the far end of the hall knocking another arrow to his bow.

"SABRE!" She shouted, pointing with her head. The mabari charged forward and rushed the bowman. She turned her attention back to the first soldier who was shoving his way into the room. She dodged a swipe from his sword with a quick sidestep. He was well-trained and bashed her with his shield.

Stars danced in her field of vision, but she remained upright. She twirled out of the way of another deadly strike and brought her empty left fist up, hitting the soldier with an uppercut to the underside of his chin. His head rocked back. She was about to make the killing blow when an arrow poked through his chest from behind. He yelled a sound that died into a low gurgle of blood-choked suffocation and sank to the floor, never to rise again.

She stood there, still half-dazed from the blow to her head, wondering what in the Maker's name had just happened. Instinct caught movement within the hall and she braced herself for another fight…only to see her mother running towards her, her bow in her hands, quiver strapped over one shoulder.

"Darling! Thank the Maker!" she cried in relief, hugging her daughter tight. Elissa felt the adrenaline ebb away and she could think a bit more clearly now. The castle had been invaded. _Howe!_ she thought. _I'll kill him! I'll kill him with my bare hands!_

A soft sigh startled her. She turned around. Iona lay on the floor reaching one hand up. That hand trembled with effort, then fell limp to the ground. Elissa ran to her and fell to her knees ignoring the pain as her bones smacked the stone floor.

"Iona!" she cradled the elf against her, and gave a quick assessment of the wound. Blood seeped into the ground in an ever-expanding pool of red. It soaked through the legs of her cotton trousers from the knees down where she knelt beside the elf.

Her mother searched about the room frantically for anything to use for first aid. She gathered up the bed sheet and met her daughter on the other side of the elf. Iona's lips quivered as she tried to smile, her eyes saw only Elissa. The look in her eyes was purely tender, as if to say Thank you for your kindness. She gurgled. Blood came up out of her mouth. She tried to breathe. She tried to touch Elissa's face, but her hand would not respond, she had no strength left to command it.

Elissa stared at the arrow sticking out of the elf's back. She had been shot straight through the heart. The tip had been cut for speed, and yet, she noticed a small metal coil beneath the side blades. It was spring-loaded. A war tip, meant to kill. Tears consumed her. She had known Iona for less than a day, but she couldn't look away from the dying elf's eyes. Had this not have happened, she might have found herself falling in love with her. Her throat drew tight. Tears strained her vision. Fate did not agree. Iona's lips moved in a barely audible whisper, "My…La…"

The light faded from her eyes.

_NO! NOOOOOOOOO!_

She clutched her tight and closed her eyes, rocking back and forth, repeating the word over and over in a mantra that by the Maker's blessing alone, could make the fact untrue. "No."

"No. No. No. No, Iona…_please_." but pray as she might, the elf no longer stirred, no longer breathed. A gentle hand touched her shoulder. She glanced up in surprise. The teyrna's eyes pleaded with her urgently.

"This is Howe's doing. We must find your father!"

_Papa!_

It was enough to get her moving. She set the elf down gently. She closed her eyelids. She bent forward and kissed her on the lips one last time. Iona's lips were still warm. She felt her heart break. _Goodnight my sweet Iona…_

The expression of pain and loss on her daughter's face softened the teyrna's heart. She felt a pang of regret at what she had done regarding her former lover. Perhaps she had been too harsh in banishing Rianne. After all, scandalous and dishonorable as it was, many Ferelden nobility openly took other lovers into their bedchamber, besides their arranged husbands or wives.

There was silence all around them, a silence that for some reason seemed far too thick. Their eyes met in a moment of mother-daughter telepathy.

_Oren and Oriana!_

Her mother spoke aloud the words she dared not think. "Oh, Maker, No! What if the soldiers went to your brother's room first?"

They sprinted for the door across the long hall. Elissa reached there first and bashed the door in with her shoulder, praying they were sound asleep, undisturbed, willing it to be true. An anguished cry from her mother as the older woman caught up to her. She knew she did not want to look, she knew she shouldn't. Her eyes drew open of their own accord, as if there had been some mistake and by opening them, by seeing her nephew and sister-in-law asleep in their bed, she could prove it so.

Fate was not so kind, not to her, nor her mother. "My little Oren…" her mother choked out between tormented sobs as she crawled forward and cradled his small, limp form against her. It was the teyrna's turn to deny the situation. Elissa would have comforted her mother, if she could have, but the boy's last words to her echoed fiercely in her mind. _Goodnite, favo-right auntie, 'Lissa!_ The feel of his small arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his silken, thick dark hair tickling her arms as she hugged him back hit her square in the stomach like a ton of bricks. Her heart had cracked and broken when she found Iona dying. Now, those pieces shattered to dust.

Somehow she was on the floor. Her legs would not obey her command. Sabre crawled over and whined. He licked the boy's face. Elissa thought numbly about all the other times Sabre had done that. Oren's precious, bubbly giggle would resonate no more. Her heart broke again for the mabari, who could not possibly understand that _his boy_ was gone. Sabre whined again and nudged Oren with his massive head. Eleanor Cousland could not take the sight any longer.

"Let's go…I don't want to see this!" she pleaded, dragging her daughter away from her grandson's body. Elissa responded automatically, but only because there was nothing else left to do. Her mind had gone completely numb and all that she had left was the instinct to survive. Survive this night, and visit vengeance swift and merciless on Rendon Howe.

They headed for the main audience hall, hoping the teyrn would still be there, holed up, and protected by the small force of his men that had stayed behind. Elissa coughed from the thick black smoke that rose all around them from the myriad small fires that had broken out all over Highever. The light from the flames lit their path. Up ahead, a soldier ran toward them.

He looked to be in fear for his life. "Aaaahhh!" he screamed. Elissa stepped in front of him, to block his retreat. He pleaded with her, "Howe's men! They're coming! Run for your lives!"

Eleanor watched on and her bosom filled with pride. Elissa's hand came up swift across the man's face. "Snap out of it!" she shouted, " We are _not _cowards! We stand and _fight!_"she told him. Something changed in his eyes. He stood taller, straighter. He would do his hired duty, for his teyrna, for her daughter, for Highever.

He nodded, and gripped his sword and shield tighter. "Y-yes, My Lady!" he said. He turned and took point. Elissa flanked him on the left, Sabre took the right flank. Eleanor brought up the rear. Together they turned the corner.

Five of Howe's men rushed them immediately. "It's the Couslands!" one of the men shouted, "Take the teyrna alive! Howe wants her unharmed!" he shouted.

"You'll take my mother…" Elissa shouted over the sounds of the night, the bloodlust beginning to boil within her, "…OVER _MY DEAD BODY_!" she roared, at the top of her lungs. The first two soldiers stopped frozen in their tracks. The look in her eyes plenty enough to deter them and make them rethink their participation in this battle.

An arrow sailed through the air and struck one of them in the throat. He sank slowly to the floor, still not believing he was dead. His eyes rolled back into his head. He made no move to get up. The second soldier's eyes widened in horror as Sabre lunged up from the floor and pounced upon his chest sending them both crashing to the ground. Shredding teeth sunk into armored flesh piercing as easily through the tanned leather as a sharp knife through hot butter. Blood sprayed out from the wound in a violent wash of crimson. The soldier gurgled and choked on his own life as the mabari clamped its jaws on his throat and shook its head like a dog with a toy.

The lone Highever infantryman rushed forward to interrupt the spell being conjured by the Howe mage. The mage cursed and drew his staff up to deflect the soldier's sword. The Highever soldier kept the mage busy. Elissa ran straight for the Howe knight, the man who had ordered the others to take Eleanor Cousland alive. The other Howe soldier rushed the battle maiden. She quickly slung her bow over her shoulder and drew twin daggers. She fought him off while her daughter made short work of Howe's knight. When the final blow was dealt, Elissa remained where she stood. Her blade dropped to the ground with a loud metallic clank.

The teyrna and the Highever soldier battled their opponents desperately. Elissa made no move to help them. Eleanor feinted and twirled, sidestepped and danced away, until she saw an opening. She stabbed the Howe soldier through the windpipe and drew her dagger out. Reflexes finely honed from years of experience sent one of her daggers out into the mage's back. It was enough distraction for the Highever soldier to gain the upper hand. He finished the mage off.

Eleanor approached her daughter. Her back was turned so she could not see her face, though she didn't need to. She was not so old that she had forgotten the first time she had killed someone. She turned the teyrneta to face her and was rewarded with a grim sight.

Elissa Cousland's face was blank, her eyes dark, expressionless. Her complexion impossibly pale. She blinked far too rapidly. She did not see her mother, but rather looked through her at the dead bodies that lay in their wake. She glanced down at herself and the first inklings of horror touched her eyes.

She was covered in blood. Some of it was Iona's. Most of it was Oren's. But the blood that drenched her arms and hands belonged to the Howe knight, a man she had never met. A man she had slain. A fine tremor ran through her body as she raised her hands to her face, truly seeing the blood for the first time. She screamed. Then she fainted.

OOOOOOO

Several light taps to her cheek in quick succession roused her once more. She stared up at her mother, confused and slightly concussed. "What…happened?" she asked.

"You fainted," her mother explained as she helped her to her feet.

Elissa frowned. _I… __**fainted?**_

If the situation had not been dire, Eleanor Cousland would have laughed at the expression on her daughter's face. "Darling, there's no time to explain. Come with me." she instructed and headed for the main audience hall.

Elissa gathered her bearings and followed, Sabre lumbering at her side. The Highever soldier jogged with her at her other side. Memory returned to her. The fires burned brightly in the night. Highever was being forcibly taken, and, if her father had fallen already, the teyrnir was surely lost.

_No! It won't happen! I won't let it happen! The Cousland line shall not fall __**this**__ night!_ She swore the words on her favo-right nephew's body. The image brought tears once more to her weary, aching eyes.

Ahead of them, her mother paused at a familiar door. She fumbled with a key and ran inside once she got the door unlocked. Elissa followed her. They were in the Cousland family armory. Parable gleamed in the moonlight from it's perch on the far wall. Her hand ached with memory of the last time she had handled the Cousland family blade. Without a word or any type of ceremony, her mother withdrew the blade and handed it to her. Then she knelt to a chest against the opposite wall. Her key turned the tumblers in the lock and the chest popped open with a rusty creak. The teyrna hefted out her husband's shield. _Bryce… _she thought, eyeing the Cousland herald.

Twin stalks of wheat, symbolizing prosperity were painted in blue with a white border, along the outer edges of the wedge-shaped shield. The stalks crossed at the roots to display the sharing of prosperity in times of famine and drought. For Highever's own prosperity, neither Bann Loren's peoples, nor Amaranthine's had starved, not for centuries, since the first Cousland had taken control of the land from the wicked and cruel Teyrn Cassius Howe.

She startled when Elissa's hand rested on her shoulder. "Mother?"

"Here," she said, choking on her sobs, "take it…I…can't look at it anymore." She shoved the shield into her daughter's hands and turned away. Tears threatened to overtake her, but she knew there wasn't time to indulge herself in her grief. She took a long, steadying breath. The Highever soldier spoke from the doorway, his back to them.

"My Ladies…we should hurry…"

"Yes." the teyrna agreed, allowing her daughter to help her stand. She strapped the shield onto Elissa's arm, and once again took point, leading them toward the main audience hall.

Ser Gilmore met them at the door. "My Ladies! Thank the Maker, you're both safe!"

"Where is my husband?" Eleanor demanded.

He appeared confused. "He's not with you?" he gave a quick, assessing glance about to confirm his suspicions. "He said he was going to look for you. He said something about another way out of the castle."

"The larder!" the teyrna's eyes widened with knowledge. It was long known to the Couslands as the secret exit out of the castle, in case of times like this, but the knowledge had long lain dormant. Neither the teyrn nor his wife ever truly expected such a deed from Rendon Howe.

The soldiers held the doors shut and the Highever infantryman who would have turned tail if not for Elissa, stayed behind with them to help hold the doors. There was a loud rumble as if a great thunderhead loomed in the sky directly over the castle, and the doors shook with a mighty sigh. A small gap of moonlight peeked through onto the carpet as the bar holding the gates shut splintered and gave a fraction of an inch. Elissa rushed to the door and shoved herself against the bar, slamming it together, forcing the gap in the gates shut. "Go, Mother!" she shouted, "Find Father! I'll hold the gates!" Another mighty boom of thunder and the doors shook and groaned, the bar trembled as if frightened. Elissa planted her feet and held fast, though it felt as if she had been the one hit with a battering ram and not the doors. Her grip did not falter as her body shook, absorbing the force of the blow.

Eleanor was at her side, pulling her forcefully away. "The doors won't hold!" she insisted, and at her daughter's protests, she ordered the younger woman to follow her. "You must come with me. Survive this night, and visit vengeance upon Howe."

That got her moving. Elissa, Eleanor, and Sabre Cousland made for the larder.

Down the turning, twisting alleys they ran, taking every shortcut they knew to buy as much time as they could. When they were close, they slowed. A small body lay in the street. Blood pooled around the body. The victim's hair was dark as coal, the ears long and sharply pointed.

_No! Maker's Mercy, please, NO!_ Elissa tried to deny the recognition as her brain registered the familiar form.

The last shreds of dust that had remained of her heart, burned up in a cold, dead hatred of Howe, leaving behind only a ghostly shell of ash that was once a thing that could feel. The teyrna pulled her close and tried to shield her eyes from him. She pushed her away and knelt by his side. Tenderly, she traced the markings on his face, committing the swirling pattern of lines to memory.

_Damien…_

She checked his neck for a pulse, but he was long dead, his skin ice cold and rigid. He had been one of the first to die tonight. She noticed that he still had a shield strapped to his left arm, and a sword gripped tightly in his right. He had not been taken by surprise. He knew what was going on. Had he come to warn them? To warn _her_?

Of course. Guilt washed over her being, haunting her soul with the knowledge that he had died to help her. She turned away from him and retched until her stomach was empty.

Eleanor dragged her to her feet once more and had to help her walk the rest of the way to the larder. Elissa was not sure how much more of this nightmare she could take. An insane part of her mind told her it was all a dream and that she would awake only once she realized that everyone save herself was dead. The numbness in her mind had spread to her motor functions and it was only through gentle nudging that the teyrna was able to prod her along.

Eleanor led the way inside the front room of the larder and Elissa was not surprised to see Nan and her two elven apprentices lying motionless on the floor. Though, at this point, half-convinced and wanting wholly to believe it was all a dream, she found it hard to grieve her. Denial was stubbornly setting it's way into her mind. Of course that wasn't Damien! Because this wasn't really happening!

_I'm safe in bed, next to Iona. I shouldn't have drank so much at the party. That's why I'm dreaming this awful dream!_ she thought.

A pained grunt came from the back room. "Bryce!" her mother called out, and ran for the back door. She threw it open and glanced quickly around the room. Elissa stumbled in behind her.

The teyrn lay before the larder itself, guarding the trapdoor that led to the servants' tunnel. Blood surrounded the lord of House Cousland. He clutched his side. Elissa's strength returned with a steady resolve to help her father.

"Papa!"

Both ladies ran to him and knelt by his side.

"Maker's Blood! What's happened?" the teyrna asked, "You're bleeding!"

"Howe's men…found me first. Almost did me in, right there." the teryn replied, grunting in pain with each breath he drew.

Elissa tried to get him to his feet, "We need to get out of here!" she insisted, but the teyrn was limp in her grasp.

"I won't survive the standing," he said.

Tears filled her eyes, "That's not true! You'll be fine!" she shouted in denial, trying again to lift him up. She was exhausted from the fighting and the emotional toll of all the lives she had lost so far, this awful night. She refused to lose him, too, but he was deadweight in her hands. There was no way she could carry him the entire way. But damn the Maker, she would _try_.

She hefted him up, straining herself with what little strength she could still muster. "My darling girl…" Bryce mused, "if only will could make it so…" he sighed and sagged back in her grasp.

Eleanor thought back to Ser Gilmore and the men at the front gates. How long had it been since they'd left them? Five minutes? Ten? Twenty? There was no telling. "Once Howe's men break through the gate, they will find us. We must go!" she pleaded with her husband. She wrapped one of his arms around her shoulder and tried to help Elissa lift him up, but the teyrn was a large man, standing over six feet and the large muscles of his frame that had so attracted her to him in their younger days, now worked against his survival, weighing him down so the women couldn't lift him.

The teyrn knew his time slipped away with every breath he took. He resigned himself to his fate. He eyed each of them in turn, instructing his daughter and his wife to his last wishes. "Someone must reach Fergus…tell him what has happened…"

"And take vengeance." Elissa finished for him, her voice calm and steady. She would be angry. She _should _be angry, but instead, she felt cold, empty. She knew with a growing dread, that her mother would stay, that in a few moments more, she would be orphaned. She saw it in her mother's eyes. Bryce was the love of her life, and she would not leave his side. Not now. Not for her daughter, not for the Maker himself.

Numbness enveloped her mind and body and she set her father down and knelt beside him. "Yes…vengeance," he smiled wanly, at his daughter.

"Bryce, no! The servant's exit is right here. We can flee together, find you healing magic!" his wife's eyes filled with tears. She held his hand to her cheek and indulged herself in his caress.

His smile faltered. He grunted in pain again. "The castle…is surrounded. I cannot make it."

The sound of footsteps and a blade being sheathed drew their attention. Elissa stood quickly and drew her blade before the man spoke, and she would have killed him, if she had not recognized him from earlier. It was Duncan.

"I'm afraid the teyrn is correct. Howe's men have not yet discovered this exit, but they do surround the castle. Getting past them will be difficult." he explained. His gaze shifted across the family and fell pityingly on the pale visage of the girl. For though a woman's age she was, the look on her face was that of a young girl, no more than twelve or so, lost, alone, and afraid. He knew without a doubt that she had already grasped the certainty of the resolve in her mother's eyes. She knew she was about to lose her family. She knew their deaths would be violent. She knew there was nothing she could do to stop it, as much as she knew there nothing she could do to stop the world from spinning, or time from flowing forward. Her ragged, bloodshot hazel eyes searched to the Warden, pleading for an answer he could not provide, for there was none. The only thing he could do for her was ensure her survival, and even that would prove difficult.

"You are Duncan, then. The Grey Warden?" the teyrna questioned. She had not yet met the man her husband had spoken of, but the way he carried himself let her know he was a great warrior. He could provide her daughter with the cover she needed to make it out alive. She would stay with Bryce then, now that she knew Elissa would be safe.

"Yes, your Ladyship," he answered her questioning eyes, "the teyrn and I tried to reach you sooner,"

"My daughter helped me get here, Maker be praised."

He turned his gaze sidelong to the girl he had first met at the Grand Tourney. "I am not surprised."

"Thank you for saving my father," she said softly.

His brows furrowed. He glanced to the teyrn and then back to the girl who still denied the situation for what it was. "I fear your thanks are premature. I doubt I have saved him," he said gravely.

The shouts and the sounds of battle that had been in the background grew louder suddenly. Howe's men had broken through the gates. "Whatever is to be done now, it must be done quick!" the teyrna confirmed, "They are coming!"

"Duncan, I beg you…take my wife and daughter to safety!" Bryce insisted.

Duncan nodded gravely. "I will my Lord, but I must ask something in return."

"Anything!" Bryce promised.

Duncan heaved a great sigh, his heart heavy with the knowledge of his price for the dying noble. "What is happening here, pales in comparison to the evil now loose in this world."

Bryce's eyebrows knit together, trying to grasp what Duncan was speaking of.

The Warden continued, " I came to your castle seeking a recruit. The darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one."

…_but everyone else is dead_, Bryce reasoned. His eyes widened in horror, but deep in his heart, he knew the Warden spoke the truth. His daughter, his Pup, was well-trained in swordplay, she would make a fine Grey Warden. "I…I understand," he agreed, his eyes flicking to Pup, then back to the Warden.

She realized that they were speaking about her and suddenly blurted out an angry protest, after all, they were speaking as if she was not present, as if she herself had no say in the matter. "What? No! I won't agree to any such thing!" she shouted.

"Then what else?" he asked, turning his gaze to her, "How will you survive?"

Duncan disregarded her protests, turning his attention to the Lord. "I will take the teyrna and your daughter to Ostagar, to tell Fergus and the king what happened. Then, your daughter joins the Grey Wardens," he said, confirming his intent.

_Fergus? _Elissa recalled that her brother would be with the Wardens by now. A small ember of hope lit deep within her chest where she thought her heart had died. Her brother was still alive!

"So long as justice comes to Howe…I agree." Bryce said. He groaned in pain once more, and the teyrna caressed his cheek, her tears trailing free down her face.

Duncan turned his attention back to the girl, who's eyes had now lit with a blazing fire at the mention of bringing of Howe to justice. "Then I offer you a place within the Grey Wardens. Fight with us," he pleaded, hoping she could be convinced.

Her eyes burned with cold hatred, turning their color from their natural light hazel to dark, glittering green, "My _duty _is to take vengeance on Howe," she insisted.

"We will inform the king. He will punish Howe," Duncan assured her, hoping he could dissuade her from her suicidal path of revenge and turn her attention to the darkspawn threat. "I am sorry, but a Grey Warden's duties take precedence, even over vengeance," he insisted.

Bryce reached out and grasped his daughter's hand, giving it a light squeeze. "Howe thinks he'll use the chaos to advance himself….Make him _wrong_, Pup. See that justice is done. Our family always does our duty first. The darkspawn must be defeated," he insisted, knowing only _his_ word could convince her to help Duncan. "You must go, for your own sake, and Ferelden's," he sighed, his breaths becoming strained from the effort to speak.

She nodded, the numbness returning to her soul with severity and the knowledge that what she had predicted was happening right now. She glanced to her mother and knew it was true. "I will, Father," she acknowledged, "For you."

Duncan stood, "We must leave quickly, then."

The teyrna glanced to her husband, not sure she wanted her daughter facing down actual _darkspawn_. She was a battle maiden, yes, in Highever's truest tradition, but those creatures were evil incarnate. "Bryce, are you…sure?" she asked him.

"Our daughter will not die of Howe's treachery," he said, "She will live, and make her mark on the world,"

The teryrna turned her attention to her daugter, "Darling, go with Duncan," she pleaded. "You have a better chance to escape without me."

"Eleanor…" Bryce glanced to his wife, pleading with his eyes for her to leave with the Warden.

"Hush, Bryce," she told him, "I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time, but I won't leave you," she confirmed her suicidal intent, caressing his face. She kissed him one final time.

"No! Elissa shouted suddenly, horrified at the prospect of losing them both. " I won't let you sacrifice yourself!"

"My place is with your father," she explained, "at his side. To death and beyond."

Elissa turned away from them not wanting to watch their final goodbyes to each other, though she could still hear their loving words. Bryce turned to her once more. "Go, Pup. Warn your brother. Know that we love you both. You do us so proud." he gasped between ragged breaths, drawing tears to his daughters eyes.

A loud crash came as the door to the larder shuddered on its hinges. Duncan grabbed Elissa and forcibly pulled her to her feet. "They've broken through the gates. We must go, now."

"Goodbye, darling." her mother's words echoed in her mind as Duncan led her through the trapdoor. Seconds later, a loud crash and the sounds of battle filled the tunnel from the room above. A high-pitched scream shattered what was left of her mind and soul. _Take her alive… _the Howe knight had said to his men. What horrors lie in wait for her mother in Howe's dungeon?

"NO!" she shouted, and ran back down the tunnel. Duncan ran after her and caught up to her. He grabbed her body up and lifted her carrying her away with him. She struggled and screamed and shouted and cursed him with every step away from the castle they took, falling desperately into hysterics. He feared they would be discovered if she did not shut her mouth. He set her down and blocked her path back down the tunnel.

"Move out of my way!" she shouted at him, beating his plate-covered chest futilely with her fists.

"I am sorry, My Lady," he said. She did not see his fist until it was too late. She sagged against him and he caught her, then hoisted her limp body over his shoulder. He ran down the tunnel, the mabari hound following close on his heels.

The tunnel opened out into the main square of the town, near the alienage. He cautiously peered across the streets. He snuck through the alleys, avoiding the sounds of battle. Up ahead, the Cousland stables burned. A horse neighed in fright.

_A horse! Perfect!_

Duncan ran to the stables. The fire glowed fiercely, hungrily consuming the wood of the stables. He set Elissa down out of the way of danger. In the last stall, a trapped stallion bucked wildly. He was a fine beast, Duncan noted, a handsome thoroughbred, pure white from the tip of his nose down to the tip of his tail, not a single hair of a differing color marred his perfection.

Duncan removed the metal bar that held his gate shut. He hoped he could calm the beast, but the horse ignored him entirely. As soon as it was out of the stall, it walked calmly over to Elissa's body. It nudged her with its head and gave a low murmur. Duncan nodded and patted the horse on it's head. Not wasting time to look for a saddle, he threw the youngest Cousland over the horse's back and climbed up behind her. The horse needed no further prodding and fled the burning city. The mabari ran swiftly behind them. When they finally made it out of the city, the horse was given room to run free. When he lost sight of them, he followed his master's scent with his nose.

OOOOOOO

A/N: I didn't realize when I started to write this, that the darned larder scene was so dang loooong. Oh, well, hope you liked it. ;P till next time.

updateish: sorry it's been a while. some of the events that happen in the aftermath of the fall of highever have made me a bit depressed because I didn't know they were going to happen I hadn't planned it, and I don't do well with violence. Also, I need to find where Elissa's head is right now. I think she's rather numb, but there's something below that that she's using the numbness to cover up. I've been letting it stew for a while, but I'm going to make a serious effort to focus on chap 15 of The Rose's Thorn this coming weekend. I'm gonna TRY to get it done by sunday night. possibly monday night. I've finally felt the stirrings of rekindled creativity on this one. yay! =D


	15. I Will Not Bow

Autho'rs Note: Okay folks, gotta warn ya, those with a weak stomach, turn away now. the rest of you sickos like me, enjoy! ;P No, srsly, Warning ahead for much unpleasantness, though I tried to keep it minimal. In keeping the characters IC, though I had to leave it in there as soon as it wrote itself. without further ado...

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch. 15: I Will Not Bow

"I will ask you _again_, madam…" the torturer said, turning the wheel slightly. The rope coiled tighter, stretching her limbs further out of their sockets. The pain bit deep into her flesh, she could feel her sinews tearing, tendons shredding. Blood trailed from her lip where she bit down on it to keep from screaming. "Where…are…they…?" the man at the wheel and his apprentice on the other side, punctuated each word with another click of the gears.

She did not say a word, only continued to glare at him defiantly. A small mutter escaped from her mouth. The torturer leaned closer until she could smell the leather of his mask. "What was that?" he demanded.

She trembled, anger bubbling up in her weary brown eyes. She summoned all the mucus she could muster and spit in his face.

"Bitch!" he yelled and his hand came out and slapped her, while he wiped his eyes with this other hand. In revenge, he cranked the wheel up another two notches. Something gave with a sick popping sound. The former teryna of Highever lost consciousness.

"Enough!" Howe roared. He stepped away from the wall, where he had been watching the torture session with mild interest. He knew she would not break, not quite so easily, but yet, he knew the ways of war. He knew the ways of torture. He knew how to get her to talk. He approached the rack, where the teyrna Eleanor lay bound at the hands and feet, being stretched until it would kill her.

He brushed his knuckles over one cheek, and even in unconsciousness, she defied him, her brows knitting, her head reflexively flinched and turned away from him. "Leave us," he instructed his men as he stared down at the woman he had desired from afar for too many years.

He ran his hands down the naked flesh of her thigh, following the tight, muscular curves down to her ankles. There he lingered, before returning his hands slowly, higher.

She flinched and woke suddenly, her eyes blazing bright with hate. She would not say _Don't touch me! ,_ which truly, she wanted to scream it, but she would not, because that would only fuel him to do so.

A smile split his lips and it made him more ugly than before. Rendon Howe had never been handsome. Now he utterly repulsed her. He touched her cheek, stroking it in what he probably thought was a soothing manner. She wanted to retch.

"Eleanor…Eleanor…Eleanor…," he sighed, shaking his head as he said her name. He moved to the head of the rack and released the gear by two notches. Some, not all, but _some _of the pain she was feeling immediately abated, but she was not grateful for it. Instead she continued to hate him. She knew what he was up to. He was trying his damn best to appear kind. He returned to her and his voice was calm and gentle.

"You, alone," he said touching a finger to her chest, "have the power to end this, my dear."

"I am not _your __**anything!**_," she spat.

He ignored her comment and continued his musing in his calm, gentle voice. "Tell me where they are," he paused, glancing down at her for emphasis. He smiled, "You won't will you?" he nodded to himself, "I thought so."

"You are worried what will happen to them, I suppose?" he asked. He cocked his head to the side. "The two surviving Couslands…" he mused. He arched a brow at her. "Perhaps you should be worried what will happen to them, if you do not _cooperate_…" he said, a wicked grin contorting his features.

"Do not threaten me, Rendon!" she shouted at him. " You will kill them, regardless! I am not stupid!"

His lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. Insanity filled his eyes. He threw himself on top of her and press his hips hard into hers, making certain she could feel him. He bit her cheek and laughed as she struggled. Then he pulled back, straddling her hips. He held her face still with one hand. With the other, he quickly unfastened his breeches. He pulled himself free. He leaned into her ear.

"Tell me where they are, Eleanor," he whispered. "Or, I will find them anyway…and when I do…your daughter will be my newest toy…but I wont kill her…oh no, Eleanor, …I will keep her…I will break her…I will make her mine, before I kill her… I will make her beg me to kill her…and your son…I will make him watch as I take his sister…and then, I will take him…"

She was not afraid. She knew what was going to happen. She knew in the end, she would die, but she refused to be broken. She would not tell him where Fergus and Elissa had fled, that knowledge she would take with her to her grave. It was the last thing she could do for her family, for her husband, for her people, for everything Highever stood for under the Cousland name.

"What are they to you, Eleanor?" he mused, stealing caresses from her body. She did not look away from him. Nor did she scream, shout, or make a sound. She only stared into his eyes and let him feel her hatred, let him know she would kill him if she could.

"Bryce's children?" he continued, still running his hands all over her. "You can always make more." he said. With that, he violated her.

When it was over, the torturers returned. Rendon Howe gave the men their orders. "She will not talk…have your way with her, if it pleases you, when it is over, kill her. I have no further use for the wench."

OOOOOOO

Daybreak brought with it pain that split her head into two separate halves. The bright sunlight assaulted her eyes. She threw her arm over her head to shield herself from it. She groaned. Heavy panting beside her…and _dog breath…_ eww! Seconds later, before it fully registered, and she could turn away, she was covered in slobbery dog kisses.

She sat up and turned aside, spitting. She wiped her tongue with her shirt. "Eww! SABRE!" she shouted, "That was GROSS! My mouth was _open_!" she complained. He whined and ducked his head. "Oh…". Shouting at him had taken too much effort on her part and her head complained in rhythmic throbs.

"I…am sorry, My Lady,"

"Uh…what?" she turned towards the man's voice. Shielding her eyes, she saw Duncan. Memories came flooding back from the night before. It took a long time to process them, and equate how she had wound up here at this campsite in the middle of apparently nowhere.

"Did you…did you, hit me?" she asked, barely recalling a flash of his gauntleted fist.

"You were suffering hysterics. We would have been discovered."

"Oh," as if that justified it, she thought. "How long have I been out?" she asked, thinking it surely had only been a night.

"Three days," he replied.

Her jaw dropped, "You hit me _that_ hard?" she asked, bewildered, her eyes wide.

His gaze was steady as he replied with a nonchalant attitude. "I needed to put distance between us and the Arl's men. I could not take the chance that you would awaken and continue to fight me, or that you might run off in the night."

"Oh." she said again. The numbness she had felt before seeped back into her. She wrapped her despair around her like cloak. Practicality was a tool she could use to survive. She would find her brother. Together they would take revenge on Howe and restore the Cousland name from his lies.

She regarded Duncan with a cold stare, knowing full well he would try to stop her again. His only care was for this so-called Blight.

"Well, where are we now?" she asked.

"The Hinterlands, two days from Ostagar."

"Ostagar?" she echoed. _Where have I head that before?, _she wondered. Duncan explained that it was the old Grey Warden outpost that lay at the foot of the Southron Hills, just north of the Korcari Wilds.

_Oh, yes, of course! _She recalled Brother Aldous' history lessons on the Wardens. A small smile briefly lit her face, before memory of that horrible night swallowed it up, claiming any pitiful attempt at a small bit of joy that she might have felt.

The cold steel walls of determination set themselves further into place, locking away the single small flicker of hope for finding Fergus, the only bit that now remained of everything that had been her heart, her soul, her world. She would not make the same mistake again. She would not try to _feel_ again.

Duncan respected her privacy. They rode the rest of the way in silence, only conversing to set up camp and discuss who would take first watch. He wondered, as he lay his head on the cold, hard grass, Would she survive?

The Joining was not a task to be entered lightly. The blood of the darkspawn would corrupt and claim any heart not strong enough to the task of abating it. It was not so much a poison, as the _will_ of the Archdemon itself, bred into it's minions and passed down from the brood mothers. This was why only the strongest and bravest were conscripted into the brotherhood of the Wardens. She had impressed him with her courage years ago. Now, he found himself doubting his decision.

He lay awake for hours, watching her on watch. She was alert, keen, well-trained. He thanked the Maker for her mabari hound. She absently ruffled his fur and stroked him with long, generous pats, though she would not look at him, not yet. She stared out into the night and the hollow empty look in her eyes wrenched at his own heart.

Alistair.

Yes, Alistair could help her. Duncan knew he himself was far too practical to genuinely soothe the girl. As her mentor, he could only offer sympathy, regret. Alistair could offer the friendship and companionship she needed in order to survive. In order to _live_. Though he knew _living _and _surviving_ were at opposite odds within the grand scheme of the Grey Wardens' task, watching the girl, he knew, she _deserved_ it.

They arrived a few days later, mere hours from nightfall. She was introduced to the King and Ser Loghain, his most trusted general. Fergus was apparently sent ahead to scout for darkspawn. Duncan told the king of Howe's treachery and the fall of the Couslands. Loghain's eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down, sizing up her worth. He turned his attention back to Duncan and the king.

There was much talk of how best to proceed. From what she could gather, the king was obviously a fool. Both Duncan and Loghain tried desperately to convince him how they should proceed, but his head had been filled with grand tales of centuries past. Even _she _knew the mighty gryphons were extinct.

The king did not want to hear how the world was in terrible danger. He did not want to hear how they should wait for reinforcements from the Orlesians. He wanted to ride off valiantly into glorious battle and emerge as a victor and a hero. He wanted those tales to be told about _himself_. A fool, indeed.

Duncan could see she was getting restless. She hadn't slept at all during the two days since she had regained consciousness. He instructed her to find Alistair. He told her Alistair could help her settle in.

She wandered the campsite searching all around for the blonde Grey Warden. She heard an argument up ahead of her. Curiosity drew her closer. It was a mage and a Warden. A _blonde_ Warden. When the mage wandered away, the Grey Warden turned towards her, offering a small, weary smile.

"You know, one good thing about the Blight, is how it brings people together."

She arched a brow at this unexpected comment, "You are a strange man, Alistair."

"Hey, how did you know my name?"

"You're the blonde one, right?"

"Well yea, but…that means, _you_ must be Duncan's new recruit!" he said, pointing a finger at her.

She nodded. "Elissa…Cou-" she stopped herself, suddenly recalling that they'd had to take the long way around to Ostagar. They had deliberately avoided the main road in case of another attempt on her life. Her blind trust could never again be so freely given.

Alistair quirked a curious brow over one eye. "Elissa Koo?" _Maybe she's a foreigner_, he thought, though he could swear by her features she was Ferelden, and possibly even from one of the noble houses by the way she carried herself. "Well, I'm pleased to -"

She shook her head. "No…just Elissa," she said. Duncan had told her anyway that conscription into the Wardens meant leaving her family name behind. She continued, "_Could _you show me where I might find some clothes that are not soaked in blood, please?"

He gave her an easy smile, and led her over to the quartermaster, but on the inside he wondered just what in the Maker's name had happened to her.

The Grey Wardens carried a most sacred duty that often weighed heavy on the souls of the conscripted. Morale was a much-valued commodity, but still he had never seen someone so distraught. Oh, she played the part well, but he was no fool. It was obvious, if you looked into her eyes instead of past them.

He felt a tug inside his own heart and wanted to take whatever had her so miserable from her heart, or at least temporarily from her mind. He offered his best dry, smarmy wit, but she just ignored him.

When she started to undress in front of him, he had to turn away so she wouldn't see the color creeping into his face. His eyes locked with the quartermaster and the older man took one last peek before he too, turned away with a guilty countenance.

After moments of listening to the fire crackling and the sound of cotton rustling, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Fergus," she said, then turned and walked swiftly towards Duncan's fire.

"It's pronounced _'Alistair'_" he murmured as he watched her go. He found his feet moments later and ran to catch up with her.

OOOOOOO

Jory and Daveth were the other two recruits. Jory was a knight from Highever and just the name so soon after what had happened slapped hard reality into her face. She wondered if she would now, always and forevermore flinch at the mention of her homeland.

The two men asked all sort of questions and gave whatever complaints they thought would excuse them from their assignment. Elissa needed only to know two things.

What: Darkspawn blood and the Grey Warden treaties.

Where: the Korcari Wilds.

She told Duncan she was ready and headed off without so much as a backward glance. Alistair and the other two ran to catch up.

OOOOOOO

Her grief soon found a target in the vile creatures that roamed the Wilds. Rabid wolves attacked them in frenzied packs and she tore into them with a raw force that was frightening, her blade dancing, singing through the air, leaving a spray of gore in it's wake. She didn't even bother with a shield anymore. She held her blade in a vicious two-handed grip and smashed through genlock hide using only brute force.

Jory and Daveth stayed well away from her in battle and it was perhaps the smartest decision either one of them had made in their lives. The fury with which she rent apart an emissary that dared singe her arm with a stray trail of a fireball spell was nothing short of appalling.

And yet, when their small group encountered a wounded scout, it was she who knelt at his side and it was she who bandaged him and insisted on carrying him back to Ostagar. The wounded scout popped some elf root into his mouth and assured her as he munched that he could make it on his own.

Alistair felt the stirrings of what he expected would develop into a deep respect for this woman who had proven herself a great warrior already after only a few hours. She was drenched in blood again from head to armored boots. The congealed mess of darkspawn blood mingled with sweat and dirt on her face, and when she turned to him to peer at the map in his hands, panting heavily, her cheeks flushed with pink, he found himself strangely aroused. She was…marvelous.

"Not far now," she said pointing the way with her sword, before she took off once more.

Alistair fell into step, with Daveth and Jory close behind, not wanting to be left out in the wilds alone, this close to dark.

The darkspawn blood had not been hard to obtain, the wilds were crawling with the vile creatures. But it had taken them nearly a day to reach the broken down ruins of the old Grey Warden temple. Alistair panted, hunched over, holding his knees for balance. He tried to speak, but Elissa ignored him, and he couldn't muster the coherence to speak. His lungs burned fresh fire in his chest and demanded every last gulp of air he managed to draw. Daveth and Jory were having similar experience, the older of the two sitting flat on his haunches, and the younger, dark-haired man leaning against the stone, but still standing.

Elissa panted with great force, her breaths coming all too quick, but she kept her composure and knelt down before a broken chest in the middle of the floor. It didn't take long before she realized there was nothing amongst the rubble. _Well, no sense in wasting time_, she thought. If they hurried, they could make camp inside the ruin before nightfall.

She stood and turned to the others. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Well, well, what have we here?" a woman's voice from behind her. "Scavengers? Or intruders?"

She turned to see a young woman, not much older than herself, dressed in rags adorned with feathers and beads. A Chasind?

The woman had her arms folded over her chest and regarded them all with unmasked disdain. Her eyes, a haunting but beautiful yellow color, darted over to Elissa.

"What say you?"

The recruit shook her head. "We are Grey Wardens," she said.

The dark-haired woman gave her a questioning glance, "Why do you disturb ashes none have touched for centuries?"

She opened her mouth to speak, only to be silenced a second time. Alistair put a hand on her arm. "Don't answer her, she looks Chasind. There may be others nearby."

The strange woman who might or might not be a Chasind laughed haughtily and threw her hands up in the air. She threw a smirk over to the senior Grey Warden, "Oh…you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?"

Alistair grimaced with the though of having to face down a whole tribe of Chasind warriors with only the four of them. "Yes…_swooping_ is…bad." he muttered.

"She's a Witch of the Wilds! She'll turn us into toads!" Daveth blurted out, his anxiety getting the better of him. The tension rose several notches after his outburst.

The strange woman folded her arms over her chest again and paced in front of them in a leisurely manner, as if she were a wolf, toying with its meal before killing it.

"Witch…of…the Wilds." she said carefully, "Such idle fancies, those legends, have you no minds of your own?" she mused.

Daveth and Jory merely looked at each other. The woman's gaze turned to Elissa.

"You there, women do not frighten like," she shot a viperous glance at Daveth, Jory, and Alistair in turn, "_little boys_," she said the last words with a tone of disgust at their immature and irrational fears. She was a _mage_, yes, but not a 'witch' and certainly, no 'Witch of the Wilds' .

"Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine," she offered.

"You can call me Elissa,"

That brought a light to the woman's eyes that was not quite a smile. "And you, may call me Morrigan, if you wish."

Elissa nodded her acceptance.

"Shall I guess your purpose?" Morrigan asked, "You sought something in that chest. Something which is here no longer?"

"Here no longer?…" Alistair echoed her words, rolling them around in his head. "You stole them!" he accused, pointing a finger at her, "You're some kind of…sneaky…witch-thief!"

Morrigan huffed in defiance and eyed the stupid blonde man with a disapproving glare. "Tell me, how does one _steal_ from dead men?" she mused, mocking him with the tone of her voice.

"Those documents are Grey Warden _property_," he insisted, "I suggest you return them," he said, puffing out his chest in false bravado.

She shrugged flippantly. "I will not, for t'was not I who took them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer," she said, visibly shaken, though her voice remained calm. "I am not threatened."

Elissa sighed in exasperation, she stepped in front of Alistair. They weren't going to get anywhere, obviously, without the right questions. "Then who removed them?" she asked, not demanding but curious, and a bit weary.

"T'was my mother, in fact." Morrigan admitted.

_Finally we're getting somewhere_, Elissa thought. "Can you take us to her, then?" she asked, adding an edge of polite sincerity to her voice.

Morrigan's dark brows rose in unison. Something close to a smile tweaked at her lips. "There is a sensible request." she said, "I like you." she added, a bit awkwardly, as though she wasn't used to common interactions with other beings.

Alistair hung back and pulled her away, muttering low, so the witch-thief wouldn't hear, "I'd be careful, first it's _I like you _and then, **zap! **_Frog time_,"

"She'll put us all in the pot, she will, just you watch." Daveth warned. Jory rolled his eyes, "If it's warmer than this forest, it'll be a _nice _change," he said, deriding the younger man's fears.

"Follow me then, if it pleases you," Morrigan offered, then turned away. Elissa followed her without question or hesitation. This woman's mother had the Treaties. Alistair joined her quickly enough, but Daveth and Jory hung back, wary of her from all the tales of the Korcari Wilds being haunted by witches that never aged and could pass for a Chasind woman if they wanted to.

OOOOOOO

They made camp at Morrigan's mother's hut, the old woman insisted. It was a bit cramped with all six of them crammed into a room built for two, but they sat without complaint and ate of the soup she had made. It would be a bad idea to have one witch angry at you, but two? There was no telling what manner of creature the two of them combined could contort your form into.

When morning came, the old woman bid the Wardens farewell. They made it back to Ostagar before lunchtime.

The recruits were allowed an hour's rest before Duncan announced it was time for the Joining.

Daveth and Jory looked uncertain as they gathered in the small clearing. The going rumor around camp was that not all of the recruits would survive, or least, it wasn't very _likely. _Duncan held up a good-sized silver goblet brimming with darkspawn blood, as Alistair, their mentor, spoke the solemn words.

"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant…" His voice trailed off, or at least, Elissa stopped hearing him. Her vision focused on the liquid, the _poison_ spilling over the side of the goblet, the sound of Daveth's muffled breaths as he gagged to death, the horror in Jory's eyes as he drew his blade, the keening high-pitched whine that escaped from him as he begged to Duncan that he had a wife and child. She realized why Duncan slew the man, she realized it with a growing certainty. This was no mere ceremony, it was ritual _blood magic_. With _darkspawn_ blood. And rituals always required a _sacrifice_. She glanced down at Daveth's motionless body. _Or two_.

The goblet was now offered to her. She took it without hesitation. Whatever did not kill her would only make her stronger, and Grey Wardens were the strongest of all. If the taint did not become her undoing, she would be strong enough to avenge her family, her people, her homeland, and if it did, then she could finally rest along with them.

Elissa hastily tipped her head back and opened her throat, working the muscles quickly to swallow the vile, burning substance without tasting it. What little amount did manage to fall on her tongue seared her mouth, the foul taste making her choke and gag, and just about spew forth everything in her gut.

The poison turned to fire in her veins, her eyes rolled back into her head. Her legs felt weak. She stumbled, clutching her head into her hands as sadistic pain ripped through her very mind, threatening to shatter her sanity. She fell to knees on the hard stone and screamed.

OOOOOOO

_**Couuuuusssslaaaaannnnd…**_

_It was not so much a voice, as a __**feeling**__. A feeling of belonging, and connectedness, though not in a good way. Light flashed searing before her eyes. A great, piercing screech deafened her ears._

_When her eyes focused, the demon filled her sight. It was a mighty beast, she was awed by the sheer size of it. The Archdemon's scales flickered in the light of the poisonous green gases emanating from the deep fissures in the cracked, broken mountainside._

_**Couuuuuussslllaaaannnddd…**_

_No._

_You've no right to call to me, demon._

_**Beeeeloooonnng toooo meeeee…**_

_**Miiiiiinnnneeee…**_

_She screamed out in pain, and fell to her knees. Her head ached with a force that felt like it would soon explode and force the insides of her head out all over the mountain, where the beasts children awaited eagerly to lap it up._

_No! The beast roared in anger as she fought to her feet._

_**Huuunnngrryyy…**_

_How many? How many souls of brave warriors had this tainted creature devoured in it's unnatural centuries? Was it the same demon of all the previous Blights? Yes, she could feel it._

_**Urthurmiel…**_

_The beast knew its name from ages long past. It was one and the same. This knowledge angered her. How could this foul beast not have been defeated in all these years? In all these ages? How many Grey Wardens had it claimed?_

_**Miiiiiiinnnneee…Couuuussslllaaaannnnd…**_

_NO!_

_The very air itself rippled around her as she stood her ground on the mountainside. The beast screeched, vexed. It hissed, it's tail swaying and twitching. The beast edged forward, but was stopped cold by an unseen force._

_She smiled. The same force that stopped the demon cold, ebbed and flowed at her own command, allowing her to penetrate the translucent fog. She thrust her sword up into the demon's heart._

_Black blood sprayed in a hot rush. Urthurmiel screeched in pain. Then it faded away, as if it had been only a Fade spirit. The burning in her veins ceased._

_The world slowly slipped away._

OOOOOOO

"Is she…dead?"

"No, see, she still breathes."

"Do you think she'll make it?"

"I believe she already has."

Her eyes cracked open. Damn the Maker, she was thirsty! Her head still hurt. Duncan and Alistair stood over her. Duncan smiled wanly.

"It is finished," he said simply, "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden. Welcome."

OOOOOOO

A/N: Wow, I didn't think I'd get this finished tonight. As always, thanks for reviews and faves and subcribes of course. A little bit closer to Lothering...there's just one more little detail I'd like to throw in before we get there.


	16. Vallaslin

A/N: *Edit* 7-22-12- Finally gave this one a title.

* * *

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch. 16- Vallaslin

"I ain't gonna tell ya it won't hurt," he said. Elissa eyed the dwarfen Warden for a long moment.

She crossed her arms, a determined look on her face. "Can you do it?" she asked, simply.

The dwarf regarded her with a keen expression. "Aye." he nodded, " It'll take a while, but I can do it."

"Sit down here," he said, patting a wooden bench that was low enough that he would be eye-level with her.

She sat down as he prepared his needles and inks.

"So," he asked, draping a cloth around her neck, "why ya doin this?"

Hazel eyes slowly faded into some eternal distance, and he continued his preparations when she did not afford him an answer. Finally, in a low voice she managed, "Its…all I have…to remember him by…"

He eyed her cautiously, as she returned to the present day with a few blinks and an expression of confusion. She did not flinch at the sting of the needle, but her jaw clenched tight, acknowledging the pain.

OOOOOOO

A hush fell over the battlefield, as both sides waited for the other to make the first move. The darkspawn army grew restless, flaunting their weapons and roaring out in seething frenzy. The Warden archers started to fall back, but one stern glance from their commander and they stood their ground. He raised an arm, and as fluid as one, they drew back their strings, took aim.

Several darkspawn broke away from the main contingent and rushed forward. The Warden commander dropped his arm. The archers let loose their fury.

Hell broke loose.

The darkspawn army surged forth, a great tidal wave of pure evil. The commander signaled again, and the Mabari hounds were set to charge upon the creatures, lessening their number even further. Encouraged, the Wardens ran toward their fate, weapons at hand.

"We should be down there, _with _them!" Alistair declared. "They _need_ us!"

From their perch on the bridge, the two newest Wardens watched the chaos below. Elissa sighed. She placed a comforting hand on his steel-clad shoulder. Alistair turned away from her with a petulant defiance.

"He's just…trying to get rid of us. Keep us out of trouble."

"-Because he loves you." she said firmly, interrupting his rant. Alistair looked back at her with a curious expression. "Like a surrogate son," she explained. Alistair's eyebrows knit together in thought. It was true, he loved and respected Duncan, both as a friend and as a father figure. But how had she figured that much out, so quickly? He knew he always wore his heart on his sleeve and the proof was her further explanation.

Her eyes seemed to slip away into the mists of time as she spoke. "My father…he was so proud of Fer-…my brother…He used to look at him the same way."

Alistair heaved a defeated sigh. "You're right, I just…wish we could do more to help."

"Without our signal, Loghain's men won't know when to take the field." she shrugged, "Someone has to do it," she patted his shoulder, "and I'll need you to guide me,"

He gave her a weak smile, his lip turning up slightly at the corner of his mouth. He headed off then and paused when she didn't follow. He looked down at the chaos below. It was getting worse. Time to move.

"Elissa?"

She didn't move. She seemed to be staring at something out in the distance. "Elissa! Come on!" he shouted as he shook her by the shoulders. She snapped out of her daze immediately and glanced up at him. Her brow furrowed. She glanced back to where she had been looking, then turned back to him.

"Did you see her?"

"What? Who? I haven't seen anyone."

"Over there," she said, frowning harder, her head turning back once more, "There was a woman on the battlefield…A Sister…"

"You're sister?" he looked at her incredulously.

She rolled her eyes, "No, not _my _sister, Alistair. A Chantry Sister."

He cocked his head at her, then glanced out to where she was looking. He shook his head. "Are you sure?" he asked, looking more than a little concerned about her mental health.

"Yes, I'm certain, Alistair! She was standing right there!" she insisted, pointing where she had seen the battlefield where she had seen a woman standing amidst the chaos, enveloped in a soft glowing aura.

She looked back at Alistair. "You didn't see her." it was not a question this time, but a statement. He shook his head. He glanced back one more time just to be sure.

"No. Sorry, no Sister."

She nodded. "Right." Her eyes took in the Warden's losing hand. She was about to tell Alistair that it was time to move, when he shouted over the battle.

"Come on! We have to get to the tower and light the beacon!"

Alistair ran off.

Elissa stared out at the battlefield just a moment longer.

Then she followed him toward the large tower in the distance.

* * *

A/N: Sorry this is so short, but it was inexplicably painstaking for me to write this chapterlet. I didn't want to drag out the scene, so I won't go into detail, we all know what happens afterward. So, next stop, Lothering! :)

Thanks so much for the continued reviews! and Finally got over this stall, and back into "drive" on this one. :)

Snafu1000: I can't give away details about Lothering, but... I wanted to establish that the bond between Leliana and cousland is transcendent of time/space. I don't know if the twin experiences were so much a "vision" for either one, or if they actually experienced them in real time, (up to the reader to decide ) . Leliana's was in a dream-state, but Elissa was conscious at the time of her vision. There's a plot-specific reason I didn't go into detail about Elissa in Leliana's vision, and vice versa, but you'll have to wait for that till the next update.


	17. Sister StabbityKill

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch. 17: Sister Stabitty-Kill

The three companions traveled in near-silence, peppered occasionally by the templar and the witch's baiting comments at each other, which Elissa, their newly appointed -by _default_, as neither Alistair, nor Morrigan seemed to want the job- leader thoroughly ignored.

They had traveled North, out of the Korcari Wilds for nearly two days. The sun marked it's slow descent behind the western mountains with long shades and fading warmth. Sounds of life drifted to their ears, a small town teemed with dreary activity. The path they had found an hour ago had led out to a sort of main road, which led to a wider road. She paused. There were people ahead. A small group. They appeared armed.

She tensed, ready to draw her sword if the need arose. Alistair sensed her unease, "Bandits," he warned in a low whisper. It turned out that they were. The companions made short work of the mediocre fighters. Elissa ordered the others to loot the corpses. Alistair's jaw dropped, but Morrigan saw the ruthless practicality behind the gesture. They would need everything they could get, if they were to truly raise an army to stop this Blight. She still thought it folly, a fool's errand, but she also realized that the woman her mother had rescued from the tower was no longer the girl who had come traipsing into the woods with the other Warden recruits. She was different now, battle hardened. So the witch kept that little bit of opinion to herself.

Ferelden's last hope, her two surviving Wardens and an apostate mage, stood at the entrance to the town. Eyes trained for any sign of trouble surveyed the little town, taking in every last detail, every individual person, making mental note of anything that seemed even the slightest bit off.

Finally, after several moments of banter between the former templar and the illegal witch, Elissa turned her attention to the dark-haired young woman. "What did you find?"

She meant, of course, _What did you find on the bodies of the bandits?_ Since leaving Flemeth's hut, the younger woman had an uncomplicated logic to her personality that the witch could certainly relate to. She slipped her sack off of her shoulder and rummaged through it with slender fingers, more used to wielding wild magics than any amount of the rough play her two companions seemed to enjoy so much.

She shrugged. She had picked the bodies clean, "like a vulture" Alistair had rudely commented and it had earned him a spark of electricity to the buttocks, which he did not take too fondly to. Her effort had turned out fruitless. The belongings, which had probably belonged to many other someones, consisted mostly of junk. Plated-copper trinkets, hideous "fashion" jewelry, a few rusted daggers, a broken sword, and a worn-out pair of gauntlets.

Elissa spoke sound logic, "Keep what we can use. Sell the rest." Simple. Honest. Practical.

Morrigan nodded, once. Her amber eyes began to search the wooded areas at the edges of the town, as they descended the main stair leading in from the highway. She found a plant of interest and wandered over to pick a good amount. When she returned, Elissa merely glanced at her with curiosity.

"Elfroot," Morrigan explained, "Tis a medicinal plant." She gave no further explanation, and Elissa seemed satisfied with that.

"It's getting dark. We need to find a place to rest. Find a merchant. Then we'll look for a room."

"Right, great idea, oh fearless leader." Alistair said jokingly. Morrigan tensed. For a moment, she thought Elissa would lash out at him, but it never happened. A slight smirk twitched at her lips. The closest thing to a smile she had seen cross that woman's face since before the horror of Ostagar.

Morrigan shook her head. She did not understand how anyone could stand the constant companionship of that _moron_ templar. But he was right about one thing. They needed to decide what to do, where to go from here. Rather, Elissa needed to decide.

They came upon a small family of elves. A little girl cried softly while her mother hugged her and her father soothed her with gentle words. Elissa stopped. The sudden cease of forward movement caught Morrigan off-guard. She kept walking and crashed into Alistair, nearly toppling them both. A short argument ensued about Morrigan needing to watch where she was going and the big lout should have known to give her some warning if he was going to block her path. Elissa shot a deadly glance at her companions. They settled immediately, as if they were scolded children, and she the disapproving adult.

"What's going on here?" Elissa demanded of the father. Sabre whined and crawled over to the child. She scratched his head and he proceeded to lick her face. Her tears soon turned to giggles.

The elven man looked sad, he looked to his wife for comfort. He explained that the bandits had taken everything they owned, none of the templars wandering the city would do anything about it. "No one cares about a few elves anymore," he sighed.

Elissa nearly fell to her knees. His words cut her to the quick. _Damien…_The last time she'd seen him, merrily dancing to his own honor amidst a growing horde of beautiful young women. The pride and camaraderie she'd felt, mingling now with the pain of that final image seared into her memory for all time. Her voice wavered as she blinked away her tears. "Don't say that,"

Alistair and Morrigan looked at her with curious expressions, but Elissa found her composure quickly. She patted the man's shoulder. "Those bandits won't bother you again. They won't bother _anyone_ again." she said.

The man's face lit up, "Oh, thank you, thank you, miss." Then he regarded his wife, "Maybe our things are still there." The elves took their leave.

The group traveled a little further into the town. They turned a corner past a small grassy mound, and caught sight of a scuffle. Several men, obviously merchants, surrounded a single Chantry sister. One of them pushed her. Alistair and Elissa felt the blood boil in their veins. They charged forward and instinctively put themselves between the men and the Sister.

The merchant turned his attention to the intruders. "Ho! You there! You look able! Would you care to make a tiny profit helping a beleaguered businessman?"

Elissa huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why would I want to help you?" Her keen mind had already figured out the situation, that the small town was overrun with refugees fleeing to the north, away from the Blight. Food, supplies, and lodgings were scarce or nonexistent. This cretin profited from the suffering of others.

He sneered, "Didn't I mention _profit_?"

The sister argued with him, insisting his actions were immoral, at best. Elissa thought it was downright despicable. "Let me guess, you don't think you're being unscrupulous?"

The Sister pleaded her case further. The merchant lost his patience, "Bah! I'm not arguing anymore! Dive off this woman and get yer hundred silvers. Otherwise I'm taking my wagon and leaving!"

Morrigan saw the movement in her shoulders. Elissa's stance changed, she drew her blade, but before Morrigan could begin to draw her staff, Elissa lunged forward and backed the merchant against his own supply wagon. Her blade pinched into his throat, puckering the skin. The man's eyes were wide, Elissa's were slitted, serious, deadly.

"Lower your prices, or lose your goods," she said, obviously an offer. She had given the man a choice, instead of killing him outright and taking the goods anyway. Morrigan frowned, she wasn't sure what to make of the woman. One moment, she was of sound mind, the next, she does something like this. What business was it of theirs if this man gouged his fellows?

"So…we have come to solve every squabble in the village, _personally_? My, but the darkspawn will be impressed."

Elissa ignored her. She turned her attention back to the merchant. He relented and rolled his eyes. "Are you here to make my head ache, or do you actually want to buy something?"

Elissa motioned to Morrigan for the sack. She gladly handed it over, allowing the leader to decide what to sell and what to keep.

Upon finishing the last transaction, Elissa handed the sack to Morrigan once more and headed toward the heart of the town. A bridge allowed access across the tiny river that supplied the town's water. A small boy stood aimlessly at the foot of the construct.

"Have you seen my mother?" he asked as they approached. Elissa looked to her fellows. Morrigan appeared uninterested and annoyed, digging the dirt out from under nails. Alistair's face mirrored the sympathy she felt in her own heart.

Morrigan rolled her eyes as Elissa took a knee and handed the boy a few silvers to buy something to eat while she assured him that they would find his mother. Apparently, what she had decided was that they _would_ solve every last issue and squabble within the town before moving on to more important things…like the _Blight_. The witch heaved an exasperated sigh. She put her hands on her hips.

Elissa relented. "Fine, we'll hurry, but first I want to find that boy's mother before nightfall." Though the boy's hair flamed red like the setting sun, it was a dark-haired boy she saw, whose voice haunted her still. _Auntie 'Lissa. _

Alistair agreed. "Can't just leave him to fend for himself," Morrigan threw her hands up in the air. This was utter nonsense. By the time she was that boy's age, she had been on her own in the Wilds, lived side by side with the Chasind and learned their ways. She pinched the bridge of her nose to ward off a beginning headache, but shook it off and followed the other two.

It was not long before they came upon her body in a small clearing just north of the town. Alistair whispered a soft prayer, then he knelt on the grass and started to dig a hole with the edge of his shield. Morrigan found something of interest on the body. A locket necklace, made of silver. She held it up into the fading afternoon light, marveled at the way it sparkled. Elissa snatched it from her without a word, then set to work helping Alistair dig a grave.

An hour later, and closer to full dark, Alistair wiped the sweat from his brow. "There," he said, then he looked down at himself and made a face, "Lets find somewhere to get washed up,"

Morrigan breathed a sigh of relief, "Yes, _please_, I can stand the stench of you no longer!"

Elissa led them back the way they had come. She handed the locket over to the boy and he nodded gravely, but did not cry. He wandered away.

They came to a rowdy tavern, Dane's Refuge, the sign read. Elissa took a breath and threw the door open. The place teemed with life, unlike the village just outside. Bards sang and played for coin while the patrons danced and otherwise cavorted about. Ale flowed freely, though more of it was spilt on the floor than was actually being drunk. The bartender looked up from where he wiped a mug with a dirty rag.

"Can I get you folks anything?"

Alistair spoke, "Do you know where we might find some lodging for the night? And a good bath?"

The bartender shook his head. "We're full up, so's everywhere else. Ain't no place got no room in Lothering. Might wanna try further north, Redcliffe maybe."

A trio of soldiers stepped forward from the crowd. "Well, look what we have here, men. I think we've just been blessed," he said to his companions as they closed the distance toward Elissa and Alistair. Morrigan hung back, fingers already crackling with electric energy just waiting for an excuse to be released.

"Uh-oh," Alistair muttered to Elissa, "Loghain's men…this can't be good."

"How did they find us so quickly?" he wondered.

Elissa replied, "It's only logical, Alistair. Lothering is the first town north of Ostagar, he knew we'd have to come here, eventually. Who knows how long they've been waiting for us." she motioned to the griffons emblazoned across their matching chest plates. She had been quite stupid, and her first mistake as their leader, might be their very undoing. She made mental note that if they survived this night, they would have to find replacement armor.

"Didn't we spend all morning asking about woman by this very description? Blonde hair, green eyes, a Grey Warden, in the company of a blonde male Warden?" Loghain's soldier asked his commander, "and everyone said, they hadn't seen her?"

The commander shot a deadly glance to the bartender, "It seems we were lied to," he sneered, turning his gaze back to the Wardens and their apostate.

Elissa shifted her footing subtly, unnoticed by Loghain's men, but not by a certain someone. Out of nowhere a Chantry sister stepped into the middle of the fray, blocking Elissa's strike opportunity, and Morrigan's clear shot.

"Gentlemen," she said to Loghain's men in a foreign accent that held a soothing timbre, "surely there is no need for trouble. These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge."

Elissa moved beside the dark-haired woman and shoved her to the outside of the group, to Alistair's flank, "Stay out of this, Sister," she hissed at the large, dark eyes that had gone wide with surprise.

"They're more than that! Now stay out of our way, Sister. You protect these traitors, you'll get the same as them," the commander said.

"It looks like he wants a fight," Elissa said to her companions, "I'm happy to oblige," she said to the commander as she drew her sword. The battle was short and mostly one-sided, the Wardens gaining quick favor from their superior skill. In the midst of the chaos, she had seen the Sister draw a blade from somewhere within her robes, and though she did her best to end it quickly, the Sister had still had to fend one off by herself. Why had she gotten herself into the middle of it? And where did she learn to fight like that? Elissa was left wondering as the dark-haired sister wiped the blood from her face with one of her sleeves.

"Alright, you've won! We surrender!" the commander shouted, dropping his sword and throwing his hands up.

The Chantry sister stepped forward again, looking Elissa in the eye. "Good, they've learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting now."

Elissa cocked a brow at the dark-haired Sister. She had not intention of letting them leave. Loghain had sent these men to assassinate her and Alistair, to destroy the last two surviving Ferelden Wardens. The only two who knew what really happened at Ostagar. She opened her mouth, but found the words failed her. She couldn't do it. Not in front of the Sister. She closed her mouth. "Fine," she relented. She pointed to the commander with her blood-drenched sword, "Take a message to Loghain," she ordered.

"Wh-what do you want to tell him," he stammered.

Elissa spoke slow and steady, her voice deep, low, only Alistair, Morrigan, the Sister, and Loghain's men heard her. "Tell him that he'll _pay_ for what he's done…We're coming for him."

"I'll tell him. Right away. Now. Thank you!" he cried and turned tail, running out the door. His men followed quickly like whipped dogs.

As soon as they were gone, the Sister stepped forward, eyeing Elissa with those deep, dark pools. She couldn't help but get the feeling that she knew this woman from somewhere, but try as she might, she could not wrack her brain hard enough for the answer. It was not so much her face, but her voice, the cheekbones, the full lips.

"I apologize for interfering," she said, "but I couldn't just sit by and not help."

Elissa thought back to the moment she'd seen the Sister pull a dagger from the folds of her robe. Suspicion narrowed her eyes, filled her voice. "And just who are you anyhow?"

She smiled a small smile. "Let me introduce myself. I am _Leliana_, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry, here in Lothering…or I was." When she said her name it was as if a bard had sung it, only one word, but lilting and gentle like the song of a bird.

Elissa felt her heart flutter in that moment, then she willed the feeling away, dismissing it entirely. They had worse things to worry about than a beautiful woman who might get herself hurt or _worse_ trying to help them. She cleared her throat.

"…Is there…something you want from me?" she asked. Why was this woman still hanging around?

"Those men said you're a Grey Warden. You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do?"

Elissa nodded slowly, "Yes, that is what we do."

The Chantry Sister smiled. "I know after what happened, you'll need all the help you can get. That is why I'm coming along."

The three companions eyed each other back and forth in silent confusion. Who told her she was coming along?

"Why are you so eager to come with me?" Elissa asked outright. The Sister smiled.

"The Maker told me to."

"Right," Elissa said, putting her palms out in front of her and taking a few steps backward. "This is where I back away, slowly."

"I know it sounds absolutely insane-but it's true!" she pleaded, " I had a dream-a vision!"

"More crazy? I thought we were full up." Alistair muttered under his breath.

"Look at the people here, lost in their despair," she continued as if she had not heard him. "And this darkness…it will spread. What you do, what you are meant to do, is the Maker's work. Let me help!"

Elissa considered her request for a moment. She already had Alistair _and_ Morrigan to babysit, the last thing she needed was a Chantry Sister to tag along.

"You feel sorry the people? Help them here." she said to the dark-haired Sister.

"Then what?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips, "What happens when the horde comes? It will follow anywhere we flee until all we know is destroyed."

Elissa sighed. Damn, but this woman was _persistent!_ "I need more than prayers, I'm afraid."

"I can fight. I can do more than fight. I was not always a lay sister. I put aside that life when I came here, but now…if it is the Maker's will, I will take it up again. Gladly. Please, let me help you."

"I don't need your help, sister." _I don't want you to get hurt trying to help us_, was what she was really thinking, though she didn't say it out loud. She had a feeling her concern would not matter to the Sister.

"Fine," she sighed, "I will go, for now. It is not important that you believe what I say, only that you serve the Maker, in the end. Think about it, please? That's all I ask."

She ducked her head and cast one last glance at Elissa, giving her an impressively deceptive pout that struck a chord with the Warden. She understood in that moment, that this woman, whoever she was, must have gotten everything she ever wanted as a child, using that same pouty look. She sighed and made her way to the bar.

The mustachioed man glanced up from wiping the bar down with the same dirty rag he'd used earlier to "clean" the glasses. "You going to make more trouble? We've about all we can stand in Lothering now," he huffed. _Sure, don't thank me at all for ridding you of Loghain's riffraff, or the bandits outside of town_, she thought bitterly.

"Sorry about the mess…what do you know about this Leliana?" she asked him, a sudden curiosity taking hold of her interest.

He seemed to consider her question a moment. "The sister?" Elissa nodded. Danal, the bartender, shrugged. "Eh… she came to Lothering a few years ago, from Orlais, I think. She's in here about once a week. Not to talk, though. She just drinks her wine and stares out the window. Never when anyone else from the Chantry is here."

Elissa crossed her arms over her chest. "Are you sure she's a sister?"

"Why the sudden interest in the mad woman now?" Morrigan wondered aloud, "Perhaps your skull was cracked harder than Mother thought," she commented.

Her comment did not go unnoticed, Elissa simply chose to ignore it.

"She is now," Danal shrugged, "who knows what she used to be. She wouldn't be the first person with a past to join the clergy."

Elissa nodded, he had a point. "Thank you, I'll be going." He had already told them earlier that he was full, and from the look of people crowding the floor in their bedrolls he was certainly not exaggerating.

"Luck speed your way," Danal said, waving them off as they left the tavern.

"We'll have to find somewhere safe just outside the town to make camp." Elissa told Alistair and Morrigan. The sun had disappeared over the mountains and it would not be long before the moon rose in the sky to replace it.

The three hustled their way to the town's exit. A few yards away, a familiar dark-haired form came into view. The closer they got only confirmed Elissa's suspicions. _Damn! I thought I told her no!_

"Oh, hello again," she said, in a suspiciously innocent tone as they approached. "So will you let me help you? Will you let me come?"

"Not you again," Elissa sighed.

It didn't seem to faze the Sister though, she just kept right on talking, as if she could convince the Warden to take her along anyway. "I'll be honest, when I heard about the darkspawn, I felt something urging me to leave my sheltered life in the cloister and do something. Anything."

"And then, the vision. It cannot be coincidence that you are brought here, so soon after I was called by the Maker." She waited now for an answer, pleading to the Warden with those large, dark pools of hers.

Alistair threw in his opinion. He leaned into Elissa and shrugged. "Her plea _seems_ wholehearted," he affirmed, "and even though she seems…a little…_strange_, she does have skill. I vote to let her come along."

Elissa pulled him aside, out of earshot, or so she thought, not knowing the woman could read lips, and even though she spoke through clenched teeth, Leliana could still see what she was saying, she crossed her arms over her chest in offense when the Warden said:

"Alistair! She's _one Archdemon short of a Blight_!"

He shrugged, "Yea, but she seems more like _Oooo, lookit all the pretty colors_, instead of _Muahahaha, I am Princess Stabbity-Stab-Kill-Kill!_"

That got through the armor. A smirk cracked her lips. "Okay, fine, she can come."

Leliana's face brightened and she did a small victory jump, waving her hands in the air, before the others returned to give her the news. Morrigan's brow arched in curiosity, she hadn't missed the gesture.

Elissa returned to the Chantry girl. "Get your belongings, but be quick, we need to set up camp, before nightfall."

The Sister cocked her head. "Outside?…I have a room in the Chantry. It's not large, by any stretch of the imagination, but I'm sure we could all fit. It would be much safer than camping outside with all the darkspawn and bandits lurking about, no?"

"I hate to impose," Elissa muttered, blushing a little.

"Not at all," Leliana dismissed her discomfort. "Come, follow me then."

OOOOOOO

A/N: I know, I know, I got some 'splainin to do. but it shall, be coming in chapters soon. ;)


	18. Orlesian Spy

Author's Note: sorry this took so long, I had thought the muse left me, but she was merely taking a nap.

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch. 18 Orlesian Spy

"Elissa! HELP!" Alistiar's voice roused her from a dead sleep. She rolled out of her bed, sword in hand, heart aflutter, blinking the sleep from her eyes, her gaze darting about the camp for any sign of bandits or darkspawn. It was morning, barely, she noticed, the sun slowly beginning it's soft arc into the violet sky.

"Get off of me, you great oaf !" a woman's voice. The Warden turned her head toward the sounds of a struggle.

Alistair had the newcomer, the one he had personally requested Elissa allow to come along, pinned to the ground. She struggled valiantly, the anger in her eyes confirming that were their size equal, Alistair would not be the one on top.

Elissa stared at the two of them, unsure what to make of the situation. Morrigan sidled up next to her, also taking in the scene silently.

"There had better be good reason to rouse me before dawn's light…" Morrigan huffed, grumpily rubbing at her eyes.

At their feet, the Templar and the Chantry sister still struggled.

"Help me, Elissa, help me tie her up…she's trying to kill us…she's a spy!"

"No I'm not! Get off of me! Ow! You're hurting me, you clumsy beast!"

"Alistair!" Elissa snapped, scolding him as a mother would scold a naughty child, "Get off of her!"

He blinked up at her, his grip slowly loosening on the Chantry sister's wrists. "Huh? But-But…she's a spy…" he pouted, getting up slowly.

The Chantry Sister rose to her feet, glaring at Alistair as she rubbed her sore legs and wrists. For such a warrior, he was all brute strength, no skill, no finesse. In her former life, she could have held down a mark without leaving so much as a bruise, if the job required, it was all about leverage, but he had held her down forcefully, using all of his considerable weight.

"You have absolutely no proof to your accusations!" she shouted at him, her accent filling heavily with emotion.

"I do to!" Alistair shot back.

"Enough!" Elissa shouted over both of them.

"Alistair, what's going on?" Elissa asked, more calmly than before.

"Well, uh…" he shuffled nervously, averting his eyes.

_She was lying about something. He knew it. She wasn't just a Chantry Sister. The truth of this gnawed at his gut. He crept forward slowly, trying to mask his footfalls in the soft, wet grass, as he edged closer to her tent. _

_His heart beat rapidly though the quickly fading shadow of night gave him some measure of stealth. He carefully lifted the flap open. Leliana, if that was her real name, lay quietly asleep, her breaths a steady rhythm, her chest rising and falling evenly. He waited just a moment, to be certain._

_When he was certain she would not wake, he glanced around, straining to see in the dark recesses of her tent. There was a small satchel, the one she kept strapped to her hip in their daylight travels, there beside the foot of her bedroll. He quietly crept over to it and hefted it up._

_The contents rattled inside, and time froze. His heart hammered in his chest. This was wrong, he shouldn't be doing this. He should just go back out and finish his watch. Yes, that was the right thing to do._

…

_But…real chantry sisters don't fight like that. In fact, real chantry sisters don't fight. So…_

_He opened the satchel, slipping the tie belt through it's loop, and throwing the top flap open. Inside were a few trinkets of little apparent note that were probably worth more in sentimental value than what they could be traded for in coin. An old, dried up flower-Andraste's Grace, if his memory was correct-, a worn, braided leather bracelet with a solid brass plate in the middle, inscribed with a name -Serai-, a small wooden box with a simple iron lock._

_Curious, he took the box out and set the satchel on the ground beside him as he sat down for a moment. He tried the box, but it would not open. He rummaged around in the satchel and found a small iron key._

_He was careful not to make any noise. The tumblers clicked softly. He eased the lid up. Inside there was a lock of fiery orange-red hair, tied with a simple silken ribbon, beneath it there lay a small parchment. Aha! He reached for it._

_And then she woke. Her eyes were unfocused, sleepy, but only for a moment. The next thing he knew, they were wrestling on the ground, her with a knife at his throat and him trying not to be murdered._

The blonde Warden cleared her throat. "Alistair!"

"Huh? Oh…yea… um, right!" as he came back to reality.

"Well, you see…she's a spy. She's trying to kill us. I found this in her belongings," he tossed something to Elissa and she caught it in the air. It was a small folded up parchment.

"You went through my things?" the Chantry Sister cried, incensed.

"If you don't have anything to hide, you wouldn't care!" Alistair shouted back.

Elissa stared at the parchment in her hands, wondering what could possibly be inside. Perhaps it was a note from Loghain. But that wouldn't make any sense. Why would she have waited all these weeks just to kill them now? Why would she not have tried at the first opportunity? Why had she been helping them track the Dalish? Was it a ruse to lure them to some sort of trap? Elissa ran her fingers over the small packet in her hands. Slowly, carefully, she unfolded it.

Blonde brows eased toward each other, after a moment, one of them arched over a hazel eye. A tattooed face cocked to one side. Elissa stared down at the contents in her hand. She had no idea what it's purpose was.

Pale, slender fingers took a pinch of the fine blue powder and swirled it between, letting it fall back down to the pile. Morrigan brought her fingers to her nose and sniffed carefully. She stuck her tongue out and tasted her fingers briefly.

Her head fell back as she broke out into uproarious laughter, her rich soprano filling the morning air. Alistair and Elissa watched on in confusion while the Chantry Sister ducked her head, hiding her face behind dark tresses. A slight pink flush colored her half-hidden cheeks.

The witch wiped at her eyes, her composure slowly settling back to the cool, indifferent countenance she normally wore.

"I don't know that she's a spy, exactly," she said to all three. Her lips turned up in a ghost of a smile once more, "but I do know this: she is lying to us about one thing. That," she said, pointing the the powder in Elissa's hand, "is azulene. 'Tis a rare blossom in Ferelden climates, it is more suited to grow farther North from here,"

"And it's _purpose_?" Alistair pressed, shooting a glance to the Chantry sister who had now hidden her face behind her hands.

Morrigan considered the other woman for awhile, wondering whether or not to spill her secret.

"Is it poison?" Elissa demanded.

This time it was Morrigan's brow that arched. She smirked and shook her head, "Tis completely harmless…unless…"

"Unless what?" Alistair asked suspiciously.

A true smile crossed over Morrigan's lips. How she dearly enjoyed taunting the Chantry boy.

"Unless…your greatest fear…is to become…a brunette." Her eyes shot over to the Chantry sister. "Apparently,_ I _am the only _natural _one here."

"Wait," Alistair said slowly, "You mean…its…_dye_? For hair?"

"And eyes. Taken every day with food or drink, the powder made from crushing the dried petals will alter the color of one's hair, and eyes, of course." Morrigan offered. Then she snidely added, "An excellent disguise…if, of course, one has the _need_ to disguise oneself…"

"Ha! I knew it!" Alistair said, "I knew you're a spy!"

"Alistair, you're the one who wanted her to come along!" Elissa said, stepping between the angered Warden and the demure Chantry sister. "Her past is her own business. She's a Chantry sister, as far as we know, and until proven otherwise."

"But-but…Morrigan just proved…" his voice trailed off at the sudden fire in her eyes.

"I'll hear no more of this." her eyes darted back and forth between Alistair and Morrigan, "From _either_ of you."

That said, the Warden turned on her heel and left the trio alone while she packed up her bedroll and her belongings. Morrigan shrugged and followed suit. Alistair cast one last disapproving glare at the Chantry Sister. _I'm keeping my eye on you…_

Leliana sighed dejectedly, she hadn't been with her new companions for a month yet, and already the accusations were flying again. She thought she'd left this sort of thing behind with her past and the people in it. She shuddered involuntarily as the memory of Marjolaine's betrayal came to her mind.

She packed up her tent and led the others on the track of the Dalish elves. They would meet with them in perhaps a day or two. The elves were wise enough to cover the signs of their passage, but leading the life of a rogue had taught her a myriad of valuable skills. She paused in a small clearing, the sun was beginning to set. Her eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of danger. Elissa mimicked her action, though the Chantry sister did not notice. Her hands balled into fists at her side. She trembled, biting her lip to keep from saying anything to the templar as they set up camp for the night.

Alistair's words incensed her. _Not all bards are spies_, she reasoned, _and you are certainly benefiting from my bardic skill, I could trudge us aimlessly through the forest for days, weeks, months, even which no doubt would happen if you were the one telling us where to go! Thank Andraste, our leader has more sense than that! You couldn't find the wrong side of your socks, if our lives depended on it!_

Morrigan set up her own tent quietly and well away from the others. Alistair helped Elissa with hers. Leliana watched on in growing impatience while Alistair fumbled with things, wondering all the while what exactly it was that bound them so close. He was an idiot! Sure, he could fight well enough, but he was dumb as a rock, not handsome in the least, his jokes weren't funny, he was quick to suspicion, to which she could personally testify, he whined and complained ALL the time about the _smallest_ things…

Jealous rage grit her teeth together as she growled out a frustrated sound, barely containing the cry so the others wouldn't hear it. Alistair guffawed at one of his ridiculously stupid jokes, and she laughed! _Maker's breath_, Leliana thought, rolling her eyes, the woman actually laughed right along with him! She let out a slow breath and counted to ten.

When she opened her eyes again, Alistair was attempting to cook again. Her stomach lurched. _Maker, please_, she begged. Thankfully, Morrigan stepped in, effectively shoving the inept chef aside, ordering him to find and pick specific herbs. _Now is my chance!_

All day she'd been trying to get the Warden alone, to speak with her in private. It was not a pressing matter, but… there was something hauntingly familiar about her eyes, her gaze.

It seemed to be right on the tip of her consciousness, but the answer would not come. She knew it would take some bardic deduction to figure it out. She needed to spend time alone with her, but instead, because of the way this morning's events had played out, she'd been relegated to watching her from a distance.

_Who does she remind me of? _Leliana thought, curious for the answer. _What was that girl's name? Elsa? Lisa? Elise? _The bard sighed and shook her head, she would remember, in due time.

Cautiously, she approached the female Warden. Her back was to her as she sat on the ground, sharpening her sword. The Warden stood and spun so quick, Leliana was left wide-eyed, with a blade just a hair's breadth from her pulse point.

The female Warden regarded her with an icy stare. Leliana had her hands up, palms out, facing the Warden. _I am no threat to you_. The hazel gaze did not soften, but rather tensed at the recognition of the accused spy.

"What do you want?"

Leliana hesitated. Why had she come? The warrior would no doubt sense a lie. She opted for the truth.

"I…wanted to thank you…for what you said, earlier…"

Here, the hazel eyes softened, just a touch at the unexpected politeness. "I-you-…You're welcome," she said, awkwardly, then she sat back down, facing the bard and proceeded to sharpen her sword once more.

Leliana sat down across from her, folding her knees up to her chest. One arm wrapped around her legs, while she absently picked at the grass with her free hand, allowing the words she needed to say spill forth of their own accord. "I lied to you, you know," she said, keeping her gaze on the ground.

From her periphery, she saw the Warden look up, her blonde brows creased together, she stopped running the whetstone along the blade of her sword, her grip tensed on the hilt.

"…about why I left Orlais," Leliana continued. She could feel the Warden's hard eyes drilling holes through her skin with the heat of their intensity. "I left because…I was being hunted…" she dared a glance up.

Elissa's expression had changed from harsh to curious. Leliana smiled inwardly, it was too easy to read her, she wore her heart on her sleeve as was the customary saying in Ferelden. "Hunted? By who?" came the predictable reply. Leliana fell back into her true talent with the greatest of ease, recanting the truth of her ordeal, minus a few specific details.

"She was your… lover?" Curious hazel eyes held the tiniest glint, and the bard did not fail to notice the slight upward tilt to her lips. Leliana smiled. The Warden was quite intelligent and had seen between the lines. The bard admitted the entirety of her relationship with her former mentor, up to and including her capture and subsequent escape.

"And that was how you came to be in Lothering?" Elissa finished for her.

Leliana nodded, "I have lived in the Chantry for nearly two years. It…was not always…easy…but I found the Maker, and now, I follow His will."

The Warden was silent for a long moment, considering all that had been confessed. Leliana did not press for a reply, but was taken aback when the Warden leaned forward suddenly and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"As I said before, your past is your own business. Thank you, for sharing it with me," she said, a hint of warmth to the small smile that lit her face.

Leliana gave a small nod. "Thank you for listening,"

The Warden stared at her a moment longer. Leliana wanted to squirm under the scrutiny, something about it felt…other than "friendly", though not in a bad way.

A true smile touched the Warden's lips now, "You have my trust, Leliana. For now, until and _unless_ you betray me."

"I will not," Leliana promised, "you have my word, my Warden."

_My Warden? Where in the Maker's Name did that come from? _Leliana pondered briefly on her feelings for the Warden, and found to her surprise that the initial attraction she'd felt upon their first meeting in Lothering was now tenfold, having spent several weeks among the mysterious warrior woman.

They shared another moment in which the Warden still had her hand on Leliana's shoulder and the bard was about to hope for something more than what was going on. She was on the verge of leaning toward the tattooed face before her.

"Here you are, Lissie! My famously delicious rabbit stew!" Alistair plopped down next to Elissa and handed her a steaming bowl that smelled wonderfully appetizing. She took it graciously, and smacked him on the arm with the back of her hand.

"I've told you…," she said, in a tone of mock-warning.

"I know, I know," Alistair conceded, "only Fergus calls you that, right? But, my stew is amazing, isn't it? Oh, please, won't it save me from certain death…just this once," he mock-pleaded for his life.

"'Tis _my_ stew!" Morrigan shouted from across camp.

"Hey, I helped!" Alistair shot back.

"The _dog_ was more help!" she replied, "_He_ brought proper spices, not poisonous roots!"

Leliana barely heard any of it. She suddenly felt like she'd been trampled by a rampaging stallion. Her mind swarmed back to the last time she'd heard those names.

"_Daddy!" Oren cried. _

_Elissa turned her head to see Fergus jogging towards them. "Lissie! There you are!," He huffed, out of breath. "You've got to hurry!" Fergus said, picking up Oren in his arms, "The women's matches start on the quarter-hour. They're calling for you in the lists." _

_Leliana's elation faltered. Was this man her husband? Wait, … she had apologized for her nephew, and the boy had cried "Daddy". That would mean he was her brother. She smiled as she looked at him. She could see the family resemblance now._

"_Quarter-hour?" the noblewoman cried, "Andraste's hairy…" she caught herself just in time. Her nephew cocked his head in her direction. "uh…feet.." she finished feebly. "Right," she said to her brother, " I'll just be a moment, Fergus."_

_He nodded once, then walked away, as Oren climbed up to sit on his shoulders. Oren asked him, "Daddy…does An'raste really have hairy feet?" Fergus's light chuckle echoed in the background._

_Leliana's heart sped up a bit. She squeezed Elissa's hands. Elissa's attention returned to the lovely young minstrel before her. "Thank you for the coin, m'lady," the redhead gracefully acknowledged._

_Elissa bowed her head just slightly, "You are welcome. Goodday, miss,"_

"_Goodday, my lady," Leliana called, after Elissa had politely taken her leave. She turned the coin over in her hand. It was large and heavy, solid gold. A whole sovereign. Her heart swelled for the unknown woman. A generous nature is rare in the world of men… Her mother's words came to her, from some long forgotten memory. _

Her heart sped up as her mind flashed back to the present. Alistair and Elissa stared curiously at her. Her mind was still reeling from the information she had just received and struggled to process it. She studied Elissa's face and the woman's voice returned to her mind, matching very closely to the woman who sat before her. The bard could attribute the maturity in the Warden's voice to the time that had passed since they'd last met. The timbre, the inflections, the intonation of her accent, it was all exactly the same.

That was why the Warden carried herself like a highborn…she _was_ highborn! And the shield! It was no wonder now why she had initially recognized the emblem, she'd seen her wield it at the Grand Tourney!

_Maker's Breath! That fate would bring us back together at the brink of the world's annihilation!_

She felt her stomach twitch with giddy excitement, and at the same time, swim with nerves. Stars danced around her vision. Elissa said something that she knew regarded her, but her ears couldn't hear it properly, she felt as if she were hearing from somewhere down a long corridor.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like some?" Alistair asked, handing Leliana a bowl, obviously trying for civility now that Elissa had put him in his place.

Elissa glanced at Alistair, then back to Leliana. "I don't think she looks well…Morrigan!"

OOOOOOO

"Is she…dead?" Leliana recognized the voice as Alistair's. Her eyes remained shut. She tried to gather her bearings. From the position her body was in, she felt she was laying down. She tried to piece together what had happened. Her head hurt. She must have hit it somehow.

A familiar scoff…Morrigan. "She lives, yet, fool…see her chest rises and falls?"

"Will she be alright? What happened?" Curious. Concerned. Elissa.

…_Lissie…_

"She shall be quite fine. She has merely fainted, 'tis all."

"What caused it?"

"That, I do not know,"

"We'll camp tomorrow," Elissa said. "She will need to rest before we move on,"

OOOOOOO

Leliana spent most of the next day pretending to be recovering from the nasty blow to the head she'd received when she hit the ground upon fainting. The fact was, it wasn't nearly as bad as it had looked, she felt fine. What was strange was that Morrigan knew this, she could tell by the sparkle in her amber eyes whenever they would meet the bard's.

_Why is she keeping it to herself?_

Leliana shrugged. Perhaps the witch simply desired a day off from the constant tracking and darkspawn fighting. But the smile that curled those maroon painted lips belied the bard's denial. She made mental note of it, and shoved the thought aside, turning her mind to more pleasant, yet somewhat torturous musings.

Could it really be? Was the Warden they traveled with, and the woman she had fallen instantly in love with truly be one and the same? There was only one way to find out, to come right out and ask her, but suppose…perhaps she was only fooling herself. Suppose Elissa did not feel the same way about her. Then what would she do? What would she say?

She tossed and turned in her bedroll. She rolled over flat on her back, turning her gaze to the stars. She found Alindra's Trail and thought of the star-crossed lovers. Steeling her will, she crept out of bed. She had to know for certain if it was truly her, or if it was only her mind playing tricks on her. Once she had the answer, then she would know what to do. If they were not the same person, then she could live with the physical attraction to the beautiful Warden in silence, unless the Warden wanted more than simply companionship.

Leliana crept silently across the clearing to the leading Warden's tent. She knelt in the shadows, glancing about for Alistair on watch. She spotted him easily by tracking his footfalls. _At least the dog is quiet_, she mused, thanking Andraste that at least one of their protectors was capable of stealth.

She lifted the flap and slipped inside. Moments later, her eyes adjusted to the soft glow from the campfire. Elissa slept soundly on her back, clad only in her smallclothes. The bard's eyes roamed the sight, taking pleasure in the blessing the Maker had bestowed upon her this night.

Elissa shifted in her sleep, muttering nonsense. Her hand reached up to scratch a spot on her belly, briefly, then remained there, as she sighed and drifted back to a deeper state of sleep.

Leliana carefully crawled closer, straddling the sleeping Warden's body, with a knee on either side of her legs, though not quite touching. She leaned forward, balancing on one hand. Her other hand reached up to cup over the side of Elissa's face that was covered in a swirling tattoo pattern.

The moment her hand felt the warmth of the woman's skin beneath it, her heart skipped, broke, and rejoiced at once. It was she! And then, she woke.

Hazel eyes met dark ones. Seconds passed by like hours, but there was no way for Leliana to react. She had no reaction for this. She had never thought she would see her again. The Warden's reaction, however was not hindered by the sight of the dark-haired Chantry sister.

Leliana gagged around the knife at her throat. The Warden had her pinned to the ground. "What is your purpose? Who do work for?" she demanded.

"I-…I don't!"

"Liar!" the Warden hissed, pressing the blade into her skin, deep enough to draw blood.

"No! Elissa…I-"

She said the only thing she could think of, and prayed the Maker would spare her.

"I love you!"

OOOOOOO

-end of ch. 18-

A/N: DUN DUN DUN! So...sorry about the Alistair hate in this one, but I see the fiery redhead as having a short temper, especially when she feels scorned, and maybe there was some underlying attraction to Elissa, even without knowing who she truly was, hence, I thought the mad jealousy was fitting. Thanks for reading, pls review, :3


	19. Brink

A/N: Props to elmjuniper and torastridh for beta. check out their awesome stories. and a special shout out and thanks to berryblonde for the visual...you know what I mean... :D okay, sorry this took so long, but things took an unexpected turn so... enjoy.

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch. 19: Brink

The Warden's brow creased. Her eyes filled with confusion. The bard's sudden and blatant confession was…unexpected. Her grip on the hilt of the dagger faltered minutely. Leliana seized her chance. She rocked her hips upward with a swift thrust and used the leverage to buck to one side. Elissa was caught off-guard, but like a true warrior, and one worthy of the title Grey Warden, she managed to keep the bard pinned. Another confused look crossed the Warden's face. The bard's action had had the desired effect, though. The dagger had sailed across the tent to skitter harmlessly to a stop at a pile of furs.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" Leliana inquired of the confused Warden.

"Should I?" she replied flatly.

Leliana thought about that for a moment. "Perhaps…and…perhaps not." she said carefully, "I certainly have enough to remember you by."

Elissa's brow knitted momentarily at the bard's suggestion. Her eyes narrowed, and Leliana actually saw her _look_ at the bard. She felt that hazel gaze travel over her features and flushed a little at the intense scrutiny. She saw a bewildered sort of familiarity, but no recognition, not quite.

"I do not know who you are. Or what game you are playing," The Warden's words were short and terse, "but you had better start explaining. Now."

Leliana swallowed thickly, a sickening worried her gut. This was not heading in the direction she had planned. All mirth left her eyes and she tried to gather her words coherently, but they ran too close together, coaxed from her mouth in a steady stream of fear.

"We've met before. Years ago. In Denerim. You won the men's tourney in disguise and I thought you were the reincarnation of Aveline herself, and then Marjolaine said that was entirely impossible and I realized that she was right, of course she was, she was always-"

The incredulous look in the Warden's eyes shut the bard's careless mouth instantly. Elissa stared at her with awe and anger. "Th-the tourney! You've been spying on me for that long! You're in _Howe's _pocket?" The Warden's anger increased at this name, her grip tightening on the bard's wrists. Leliana winced, a whimper of pain escaping her lips before she could reign it in.

"Oh, no! No, of course I haven't! I'm-I'm not!" Leliana pleaded. "Please, I'll explain everything…just hear me out…"

The Maker must have heard her silent prayers. Whether it was her desperation or something else, the warrior loosed her grip ever so slowly. She sat back on her haunches as Leliana pushed herself up, drawing her legs close to her body. She cursed herself inwardly for showing that she was afraid of the woman before her. Marjolaine's voice in her head recriminated for that. _Never reveal yourself to your enemy…_

_Shut up, Marjolaine! She's not my enemy…_

"What was that?"

Leliana's attention snapped back to the present. The Warden regarded her with curiosity, one brow arched high above the over. The bard felt her cheeks flush with warmth, as she bit her lip and shook her head slightly. "Nothing. It was…nothing…"

The Warden did not respond. She sat across from Leliana, arms over her chest, an expectant look on her face. Leliana's awestruck mind recalled the moment she'd first seen her, and the unexpected, yet deliciously lovely turn of events that had led up to the last moment she'd seen her. She felt a small smile tug at her mouth.

The Warden tensed as she watched the bard carefully for any sign of deception. She had sat back at the bard's request, because she knew it would put her within reach of her dagger. Her eye flicked momentarily to the blade, then back to the dark-haired woman before her. She would be ready if the woman tried anything. And this time, she would not hesitate.

"When I first saw you…" the bard's voice trailed off momentarily as a blush burned her cheeks. The intense scrutiny of hazel eyes hanging on her every nuance sent a thrill of nerves through the bard's spine. She swallowed hard, steeling herself.

"…I thought I was staring into the heavens and that the Maker smiled down upon me and- and it was you. And when…when you came over, introduced yourself to me…I thought I would fall to my knees, such a terrible weakness came over me," tears began to blur Leliana's vision, but she let them fall where they may, if she tended to them now, they might overwhelm her, and this, she needed to say. This, she needed for Elissa to know.

"But it was not until…" here the bard blushed harder, turning her head away and letting her hair shield her from the Warden's gaze.

"It was not until, we kissed…that I knew…I knew, I loved you," Leliana glanced up carefully, her voice now softened by the conviction her confession held. " But you were gone so soon after. I tried to follow you- I didn't know what else to do-"

Her eyes searched the Warden's who had sat through the entire thing without saying a word. She watched the blond brows crease deeper and deeper as her pupils hazed over, losing themselves in the distance of time.

Elissa struggled to dredge up half-forgotten memories of her time in Denerim, the day of her 18th birthday, the Grand Tourney held that year in Ferelden. Her frown increased as the bard watched on silently. Pain seized her heart with such force, she could scarcely breath, feeling as if a mountainous boulder rested there, hindering her lungs.

An agonizing tidal wave of memories crashed through her mind, memories she did not want to relive, but somehow, could not avoid. Elissa could not hide from her nightmares.

_**Oren…**_

_The young boy skipped about laughing and playing his flute, though rather shrill and off-key. She winced, covering the ear that had been closest to him, but smiled when he turned back toward her._

_**My favo-right nephew…**_

_High-pitched laughter echoed throughout Castle Cousland reverberating off the solid stone walls of the palace proper. The young boy runs swiftly squealing, his giggles making the palace servants pause and smile at the spectacle. She chases him, only jogging because they both know she could easily catch him. She makes it out to the courtyard. She sees him, hiding behind the large rosebush, but pretends not to notice. She feigns confusion looking every where one might possibly hide, except for the garden. He squeals again and runs away when her back is turned, and the chase is on again._

_**Little Cousling…**_

"_Come in," Fergus says, motioning her into the bedroom. "Someone wants to meet you." She shuts the door silently behind her, eyes on the bed where Oriana lays soundly asleep. Fergus leans over his wife, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead. He carefully takes the tiny, swathed bundle from her arms._

_Elissa's smile grows brighter until it seems that she is bursting with joy and pride. "He's precious, Fergus," she whispers as she draws nearer, her eyes drinking in the sight of her first love, the little dark haired boy who would come to be known as Oren Cousland._

_**I'm sorry…**_

"_Daddy?" he said, tone laden with genuine curiosity as Fergus lifted him and placed the boy on his shoulders, "Does An'raste truly have hairy feet?"_

This scene, this day, again…

There's something important about this particular scene that she knows she's supposed to remember, but the pain is too great, smothering out all else until there is nothing left to see but the things she doesn't want to, cannot bear, to witness again.

_**I'm so sorry…**_

"_Auntie Lissa!" he cries, running up to greet her, waving about a silver trinket of some kind. _

Something…Someone?…I'm supposed to remember…

_She cradles her hand against his head holding him tight against her as her heart slows down to a normal pace. "Don't you ever run off like that again!"_

_Tears well up in the little boy's eyes. "I-I sowwie, Auntie Lissa…" he sniffles._

…Someone…?

She tries, but the grief is too fresh in her heart and unrelenting in it's demand to be let free. The memories of the boy wash over her being until it seems, she has known nothing else. Outwardly, she sits and stares, trembling occasionally as the tears spill in a steady rhythm down her face.

Elissa's memories of her nephew's short life mix and mingle with each other in a rising crescendo that makes her whole body stiffen as she steels herself against the known outcome.

_**I failed you…**_

_The final image of him, lying broken against the cold stone floor of his bedroom, beside his mother's body is almost more than she can take. It is at this very moment that her heart breaks, her soul dies. Her mother's piercing, mournful wail falls on deafened ears and it is only when Eleanor crawls forward to cradle the boy's head in her lap that the broken woman even notices the presence of another person in the room._

OOOOOOO

Lost in her grief, and completely unable to find her way out of the dark, depressing hole she finds herself in, the broken woman flinches in surprise when she feels something alight gently on her shoulder.

"A-are you…alright?,"

She turns her head to the sound, and finds herself looking at a stranger. She blinks, hard, thinking the other woman is probably an apparition. She breathes deep, and slowly lets it out, but when she opens her eyes, the other is still there. And for some unknown reason, speaks to her, as if she knows her.

"Elissa…? W-would you…say something…anything…"

The broken woman slowly processes the stranger's words, but only one of them she is able to recognize, her name. She frowns, the crease between her brows growing deeper with concentration.

_Elissa…? C-cous…?_

_Cousland?_

Her melancholy threatens to overwhelm her as fresh tears sting her eyes. New images form behind her eyes, and these are just as horrible, but now, as before, she has no power to stop them, and nothing to shield herself with.

_Fire rages through the city, crumbling mortar and tearing down walls in it's fury. Stone that has withstood untold centuries tumbles to the ground, injuring some, maiming others, and blocking off their path of escape._

_Father!_

Her arms are locked straight down at her sides. Her spine is completely rigid. Her fists clench into balls, nails digging deeper into her palms, creating small half-moon shaped wounds that quickly fill with blood.

_They run faster, knowing they have little time to reach him…but… there's something in the street…a body…_

…_an all-too-familiar-looking body…_

Her balled-up fists begin to shake.

More images flash in her mind at uncontrollable speeds, images of… people. Some she had seen or met only once, perhaps twice, the merchant who owned the linens shop. Others, much more familiar to her for she has-had-grown up in their presence, the castle servants…Nan…

A choked sob escapes her throat as she turns her head away. Her eyes fall on a small, metal object. A dagger.

The weapon is symbolic to her frenzied mind, a means of protection, the same protection she could not give those who had counted on her.

Tentatively, meekly, her hand reaches out to touch the dagger. Her fingers come to rest on the cool, smooth surface of the blade. Absently, she strokes it back and forth…back and forth…

This time, her fingers reach farther back, her mind recording the curious sensation of the leather-wrapped hilt…it's almost…soft and sort of warm…so different from the cool hardness of the blade.

Instinct wraps her hand around the weapon. She lifts it easily, comforted by it's familiar weight.

OOOOOOO

Leliana's eyes widen in horror as she watches Elissa pick up the dagger once more. It's not as though she hadn't thought it might come to this. She is not afraid to die. Marjolaine had explained, long ago, that such is the risk one takes upon themselves when one accepts this particular line of work.

No.

Rather, what frightens Leliana, is the way Elissa hasn't said anything since Leliana last spoke. The way she sits there, trembling, with rageful tears in her eyes.

The way she strokes the dagger before she picks it up. The danger exuding from her form, emanating from the other woman in almost-visible waves.

Something is wrong.

Terribly wrong.

Of course, Leliana has known this for a while now. But she has had much trouble grasping just what in the Maker's name exactly, is going on. One simply does not cry and tremble at the mention of a love-confession, even if it is…sudden. Well, actually, one might, depending on the situation, but-but-…not _like this_…

Leliana makes one last, desperate attempt to diffuse the situation she can feel rapidly deteriorating like sand slipping carelessly through her fingers.

"Elissa…? Y-you're _frightening_ me…_Please_…put the dagger down…And we can…t-t-_talk_ about this…"

Her hand lands once more on the Warden's shoulder, and _that_ is her grievous mistake. Had she perhaps left when Elissa fell silent, she might have made away quietly, with nary a scratch. But it is too late for that. She won't make it out of here without injury. She knows this. Perhaps she won't make it out at all. She closes her eyes, silently sending up her final peace to the Maker, begging his forgiveness for all her previous sins.

OOOOOOO

She feels something touch her and glances to her shoulder. There is a hand on her shoulder. Distantly, she hears something, a muffled drone of some annoying sound that is making no sense, well not _nearly_ any sense, she does make out one word, her name. Elissa.

_I am Elissa. I am the last of my family._

In her heart she knows this. After the devastation at Ostagar, there can be no doubt. Fergus has not survived. There is no way he could have.

_I am the last of the Couslands._

Her eyes follow the hand to the slender wrist it belongs to. They trail up the delicate, yet somehow muscular arm to the soft bend of an elbow.

She is beginning to slowly realize, that this is a _person_. Slowly, in a state of deadly fascination, her dark hazel eyes glide upward, past the muscular, but feminine bicep, a taught, tense shoulder, supple leather armor, a collarbone, slender neck and the gently uneven ends of dark tresses.

OOOOOOO

Leliana is frozen in time as the Warden's eyes catch her hand on her shoulder. She seems almost bewildered at first, and then, slowly, and dangerously…_entranced._

Her heart races as the Warden's eyes slowly travel up her arm, and she is once again frightened by what she sees -and what she _doesn't_ see- in those darkened orbs.

She is frightened for the moment the Warden's eyes will meet hers. The bard has never trained in magic, but she can almost see an aura vibrating around the Warden, and the hairs at the back of her neck tell her -scream at her- that it is _not_ good.

No.

Not good for her survival chances. Not at all.

Hollow eyes pause at her mouth. The bard's lungs are frozen as her breath catches, pausing, in sync with the deadly eyes that hold her fate.

She wants to run -has wanted to run for a while now- but the Warden is taller, faster, stronger. She knows this course of action is not worth pursuit. And any sudden movements might draw the Warden's deadly attention to herself.

Her heat skips.

_Was that…?_

A momentary flicker behind dead eyes, before they stare, empty once more.

OOOOOOO

Elissa's eyes move past the slender neck and tips of dark tresses, sliding up to examine a small chin, a strong, yet soft jaw. And lips.

Red lips.

Pouty lips.

A perfectly sculpted pair, with the top forming a small bow and the bottom jutting out in worry. The lips split and two white teeth press hard into the bottom lip.

A flash of recognition hits her mind like a bolt of thunder across a stormy sky. An image of a woman standing before her, hands clasped in front of her. The young woman is Elissa's age, and she's giggling nervously.

_Do I know you? _She thinks, staring harder at the lips, and just as the thought finishes forming, the image of the other woman fades from her mental grasp.

Her eyes continue their deadly upward march. Dead eyes meet wide, frightened ones and lock. Recognition flares across the Warden's eyes, but it is not the recognition the other woman has been hoping for. Alistair's argument rushes to the forefront of her memory.

"_She's a spy!"_

-somewhere, in the back of her mind, Elissa struggles to remember who this woman is-

_I am Elissa, the last surviving Cousland. _

-but her grief consumes her-

_I am a Grey Warden. _

-and her anger needs a target-

_I will avenge you._

There is a heavy weight in her hand. She doesn't know how it got there. She knows what it is, though. Protection. The protection she could not give those who had counted on her.

OOOOOOO

Leliana does not fight back. She knows she has fallen in love with Elissa and to fight back might lead to harm coming to the Warden. _Daggers are such deadly things_, she thinks, simply, as the Warden makes a lunge for her throat.

Instinct drives the bard to protect herself. Her hands clasp around the Warden's wrists, barely keeping the dagger from piercing her flesh. She has only moments, but in those moments, she finds the presence of mind to scream-

"ALISTAIR!"

-before her airway is cut off.

The pain is immediate and somehow, worse, because she knows the Warden is not in her right mind. She can feel the blood spilling from her windpipe. She swallows, and gasps in pain when she feels the tip of the dagger scraping against the back of her throat.

Darkness takes her quickly and she gratefully welcomes the coming oblivion. Anything to ease this pain, for as physical as the pain is in her throat, the dagger slicing through her heart is a far more intense pain.

OOOOOOO

_Dead._

_The spy is dead._

_You're safe now._

Blank eyes stare straight ahead as the broken woman slowly rises to her feet, warm blood still dripping down the length of the dagger's blade. She walks forward and lifts the flap of the tent, stepping out into the still night.

OOOOOOO

Alistair runs back towards camp at the sound of his name, called high and pleading, desperate for help. What he sees as he makes it back towards the small cluster of tents sends a cold chill down his spine.

Elissa, their fearless Grey Warden leader, the one they are supposed to be able to trust implicitly with their lives, emerges from her tent, seemingly in a daze, but…

His heart stops.

In her hand, a crimson-stained dagger catches the reflection of the moonlight.

"ALISTAIR!" the scream plays again, loudly, in his mind. His heart breaks.

_Elissa…?_

_What have you done…?_

She wanders off into the surrounding forest. Alistair- the last sane Warden left- he realizes as his heart sinks into his gut, rushes into her tent as soon as she gone from sight.

OOOOOOO

A/N- *cringes* ...please don't lynch me...


	20. Monster

A/N- *Edit* 7-22-12- removed song lyrics.

* * *

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch. 20: Monster

Alistair rushed into Elissa's tent. He fell to his knees at the sight of Leliana laying prone and bleeding from an open wound in her neck. Fear seized his mind as he started to panic. Was she already dead?

_No, No! Snap out of it! Get it together, man! You're a Grey Warden! Warden's don't panic at the sight of blood._

…_but…_

_Wardens don't kill their innocent companions in the middle of the night, either,_ he thought grimly. _At least, not the ones in their right minds anyway. _

"Morrigan!" he called out, as his heart beat a frantic tune in his chest.

"Maker…please…" he whispered as he tried to staunch the flow of blood with his hands. "MORRIGAN!" he called again, desperately.

Across the campsite, Morrigan's groggy complaint drifted to his ears. "Would you be quiet if I agreed to lay with you? Is such the level I must stoop to for precious sleep? How on Thedas is one to get enough rest to battle the darkspawn? Insipid, moronic, foolish…" her berating of him only stopped when she lifted the flap of the tent and saw why he had called for her.

It took a lot for the stoic mage to lose her cool. Her eyes widened for a moment, then instinct took over and knowledge gleaned from years of a solitary life in the wilds took over. Alistair saw the fear in her eyes for the brief moment that it was allowed to show through. His own fear spiked at the revelation that Morrigan was afraid. If _Morrigan_ was afraid of something, then there was truly something to fear.

Morrigan rushed to his side and corrected the placement of his hands. "No. _Here_." she said simply. "Do not let go," she instructed. Alistair nodded and kept the pressure on Leliana's wound. Morrigan got up and ran out of the tent. Alistair could only hope she hurried back. He glanced down at Leliana's pale, unconscious face.

"Hold on, Leliana…please…just hang in there," his plea echoed in the silence of the tent. Only the night creatures replied to him. His mind wandered to Elissa. _What the Hell is going on? _He thought. _Has the Archdemon… taken her?_ "No," he reasoned out loud with a firm shake of his head to clear the unwelcome and wholly irrational thought from his mind. No. If she had been taken by the Taint, if she had been turned against them, he would know. He would be able to _feel_ it. Instead, he felt nothing from her.

He sighed, wishing Morrigan would hurry the hell up with whatever was taking her so long. He searched through the Taint-shared bond the Wardens had with each other for Elissa. There was nothing. No response at all. It was something he couldn't quite understand. Duncan had never warned him that anything like this could happen. Of course, Alistair had only been a Grey Warden for about six months, though. Maybe Duncan just hadn't gotten around to it.

His thoughts drifted over to Elissa. Worry settled into his heart. What had gone so terribly wrong? Had she truly lost her mind? Genuine pity for the young woman melted into his heart for his fellow Warden, as he thought back to the first time he'd seen her, approaching him at Ostagar's training camp. She had been so full of confidence and vitality back then, walking with her head held high, vibrant eyes shining in the afternoon light.

Alistair sighed. Poor Elissa… She had been through so much. They often talked , mostly of their lives before the whole darkspawn threat had come to pass. Whatever had happened to her, she would not speak to him in great detail of the matter. And he could honestly understand that. So he'd give her her space when she would request it, or when it was obvious that she needed it. But…to actually turn against them? Had the demon gotten to her? Twisted and warped her thoughts, and claimed her weakened soul for his own? It was a possibility.

_No! No! _he shook his head. _I would know. I would __**feel**__ it_, he reasoned_. Besides… _he self-recriminated, _Elissa's not weak. She's the strongest person I know. _Alistair smiled at his own revelation. He meant, of course, Elissa's character, her strength of soul, her fortitude. She had truly impressed him, the first time, by surviving the Joining ritual. That, alone, spoke volumes of the strength of one's spirit, to face the Demon, eye-to-eye, to defy It, to literally spit in Urthurmiel's face, and live to tell of the encounter. This was the small, and sacred circle of Warden camaraderie. Most souls did not survive the Joining, because simply, Alistair figured, they would die of fright upon seeing the Fell Beast, or It would claim their minds instantly, driving them insane. Alistair frowned bitterly. He witnessed that unfortunate turn out only once before. It happened about a month into his own training.

_The recruit was a young boy who had barely stepped foot into the territory of manhood. He had blonde hair, like Alistair's, and innocent, deep blue eyes. Hell, he hadn't even shaved his face for the first time yet. The blonde Warden's frown deepened as the memory continued to play before his eyes. The boy… what was his name?… Geoffrey? His reaction to the poisoned drink was violent. He screamed, his body shook and twitched. He coughed, sputtering much of the liquid out, onto the stones. Then he lay utterly still, his eyes rolled back into his head._

_Alistair turned away, ducking his head with remorse. A soft scuffling of gravel caught his attention a moment later. He glanced up. Duncan put a hand on his shoulder, "Look," he said, pointing at where Geoffrey lay. Alistair glanced over his shoulder to see the boy wheezing, straining for breath as all the muscles in his neck tightened, the veins in his head popped out. He strained against something, his whole body tensed and writhed on the ground. Then he was still once more. _

_Duncan and Alistair both jumped when Geoffrey sat up suddenly, coughing, looking around at his surroundings, quite obviously confused and frightened. Alistair and Duncan exchanged a glance, as Geoffrey got to his feet and started to laugh maniacally. The only words he spoke were gibberish. At least, they sounded that way. But having grown up as a Templar-in-training, and fairly learned in the magic arts, Alistair knew it was an ancient and forbidden tongue. A chill ran down his spine, a deep sickening feeling like rocks falling in his stomach made the new Warden uneasy. The absent look in the young man's eyes made Alistair feel cold all the way down into his bones. The only thing he saw there was Evil. Evil of the oldest kind, the darkest dread of hellish nightmare and conscienceless perversity. Alistair was frozen to the spot where he stood, while the young man raved on and on about nonsense. Duncan squeezed his shoulder, "Get behind me, Alistair," he instructed._

_Dazedly, Alistair moved to obey the senior Warden. Duncan withdrew his sword from its sheathe. "I'm sorry, Geoffrey," he whispered. The sickening feeling worsened in Alistair's gut. A moment later, he was proven right, as the Joining for that night ended in tragedy. _

_Alistair balled up his fists, determined to put an end the darkspawn once and for all, lest the poor boy's sacrifice be in vain._

_Duncan cleaned his sword on Geoffrey's shirt. He re-sheathed his weapon and turned back to Alistair. Dark eyes met his own amber ones, offering a moment of understanding. Duncan silently patted Alistair's shoulder, before turning back to attend his duties in camp._

"Never again," he whispered gently to the dark. His free hand curled into a fist at his side. He would not let the darkspawn take Elissa. He would do…? What could he do? It didn't matter, he would do something. He had to.

Morrigan returned finally, carrying with her a large, full-looking leather sack. She knelt on the ground beside him. A brief moment of awkwardness between them as she pried his hand from the wound on Leliana's neck. Alistair glanced down at his hand where Morrgian was still holding it, her thumb against his palm, slender fingers resting on the back of his hand. He glanced up at her, shyly, a gentle flush rising in his cheeks. He pulled his hand away. She seemed to notice it at that moment too, and jerked her own hand back, as if stung. Her eyes scowled back at him in regard, cheeks tinted pale pink.

Neither the Templar, nor the witch spoke while Morrgian tended Leliana's wound. He helped her as best as he could, but mostly he just watched her while she mixed her potions and readied her preparations. He knew a little bit of combat medics, basic first aid procedures, but still, he watched intently as the witch's delicate fingers worked, weaving the wound closed with needle and thread. When it was done, Morrigan grabbed a clean cloth and poured out some water from her canteen over it. An unconscious smile spread on Alistair's lips as Morrigan awkwardly patted the bard's skin clean. The thought had never occurred to him before, that Morrigan was hiding a softer side, beneath her usual aloof demeanor. Obviously inexperienced with it though she might be, Alistair found it endearing. And when her golden-amber eyes met his again, he realized that he had been staring. He glanced away quickly, heat rising once more in his cheeks. He gazed quietly at the floor.

"Stay with her," he said suddenly, as he stood and turned to leave.

The witch bristled. She stood just as quickly and folded her arms over her chest. "Do not think to order me around, Templar. I am not your slave!" she huffed indignantly at him.

"Right…sorry," Alistair apologized. He turned back to face her. "Um…would you…_please_…" he made sure to emphasize the sincerity in his request this time, "…stay with her…?"

Golden eyes scowled back at raised, sheepish brows. She shrugged finally, muttering in a low tone, "Perhaps I shall get a moment's rest this night after all,". She shooed him away with a wave of her hand.

OOOOOOO

The forest was still that night, save for the sounds of insects chirping their mating melodies to one another. Alistair felt his resolve slowly leak away with the warm evening breeze that accompanied him to the edge of their makeshift camp. He wasn't sure what he might find when he came upon Elissa. He might have to defend himself, to fight for his very life, against a dear and close companion and dare he say it? Yes. Up to this point, he had considered her a friend. A good friend. Possibly, even more…

His heart beat faster at the growing sense of nearness he felt from her taint. His feet moved steadily forward through the thick moonlit grass. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reminding himself of the tenets of the Wardens that Duncan had taught him, now seemingly so long ago. "Right," he assured himself, as he approached the enshadowed form before him. He blew out a breath that seemed to freeze in the utter stillness between them. He opened his mouth to speak, paused, shut it, swallowed, and tried once more.

"Elissa…?"

She did not turn to face him. Made not so much as a flinch, to indicate whether or not she'd heard him or his approach. Her profile was statuesque in its utter stillness.

A growing sense of unease built upon Alistair's fears. A nagging dread needling him with each closer step towards her that he took. His stomach churned with dread by the time he reached arm's length of her.

"Elissa…?" he carefully called again, wanting to be certain to announce himself, in the off chance that she was still…upset. "It's me, Alistair,"

He received no response from the other Warden. So, with bold heart, and offering up a silent prayer to the Maker, Alistair gave her a fairly wide berth as he circled around to the front of her unmoving form.

Elissa just stood there, so still that she could have been a statue, or could have been dead, for that matter, and it took a few moments of careful observation on Alistair's part, to see that she was in fact breathing. Every now and then, her eyelids would blink, an automated response to sate the requisite for moisture, but, he saw with much sadness and confusion, that her eyes were heavily glazed. She was not - _there_.

Where she was, he didn't know. Her face was slack, her features devoid of emotion, eyes staring blankly ahead. "Elissa…," he called her name quietly. Cautious, he waved a hand slowly in front of her eyes. Unsurprisingly, she did not respond to the stimulus. To be certain, the Templar snapped his fingers twice. Still, no response. He placed a hand on either of her shoulders and shook her. "Elissa!" he called louder. Her eyes remained dead to his presence. He shook her again, harder this time. "Elissa!" he shouted.

Panic threatened a grip on his senses before he stowed the unreasonable fear away. There was only one way to break the woman from her comatose state. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. He had taken a vow. But it needed to be done. Guilt settled into his gut, despite that fact. It went against everything he was ever taught. Everything he ever believed in. A small part of the young man's heart died as Alistair slipped off his right gauntlet and let it fall to the ground. With tears in his eyes, he drew back his hand. "I'm sorry," he whispered to the woman before him, and to his own innocence.

Her head snapped to the side and Alistair winced with guilt at the blow, the knot in his throat swelling up until he choked on it, unable to hold back a sob at the action he'd sworn never to take. He waited with bated breath to see if she would even acknowledge his sin. Did it work? Was it enough? He didn't know what else to do if it wasn't.

Her eyes blinked once, then several more times, fluttering in quick succession. Slowly she turned to face him as she brought a hand up to touch her cheek. Her eyes widened as the pain registered in her brain. Blonde brows furrowed as she struggled to comprehend why her jaw ached. Alistair looked away guiltily while the Warden worked her jaw a few times and shook the fog from her mind. He shuffled nervously in the silence that followed.

Finally, she addressed him directly. "Alistair…?" she asked inquisitively, head cocked to the side, "What's going on?"

"Uh…," he replied, scratching the back of his head, "I was about to ask you the same thing. You mean, you don't remember what happened?"

Her brows knit further, eyes squinted with concentration. " I was…" _home. In Highever. But that can't be right. Because…where are we now?_ She glanced around, taking note of her surroundings_ The Brecilian Wilds? _

"…dreaming… I suppose..," she continued. The image of the bard above her flashed in her mind's eye, the press of the woman's weight holding her down ghosted over her body. She shivered with the memory.

"I heard a scream," Alistair interrupted. "I came running…only to find…" his voice trailed off at the confusion on her face.

"…she was…" the Warden shook her head, "she was there…_watching_ me?" Elissa cocked her head, inquiring the answers from her fellow Warden who could only watch as she worked to piece the solution together from her own fragments of memory. "Why would she watch me sleep?" her voice was low as she asked this of herself. Absently, a hand raised to her forehead as a storm of images surged to the surface of her consciousness. Alistair watched helpless to do anything as the emotions played across her features from confusion to realization, and suddenly, with a gasp from her- horror.

"No!" she gasped aloud. Her legs felt heavy and her heart raced, gripped in a tight, icy panic as she ran back to camp at an alarmingly fast clip. Alistair had trouble following in his full plate armor and soon lost her. He arrived at her tent minutes after her. She knelt beside the body of their dark-haired Chantry companion. Tears welled in her eyes. Her hands trembled slightly as she clasped one of the unconscious woman's hands in both of her own. _Sweet Leli…what have I done? Maker, please be alright. I'm so sorry._

Morrigan eyed her cautiously and kept her distance well away from the obviously unstable Warden. She said nothing to Alistair as he entered, but acknowledged his presence with a curt nod. Her eyes flicked back to the female Warden, wondering just how far her insanity went. Golden eyes scrutinized the appointed leader, scanning for any sign of weakness. Moments later, the witch resigned herself to her usual aloof manner, finding only guilt and concern in the Warden's eyes.

It was a curious thing to Morrigan, however, that the woman break down into tears over something so practical. If it was her own decision, she would have killed the woman the moment she'd learned that she was a spy. Or perhaps, she would have not brought her along from the start. Perhaps that would have been the smartest option. _Yes_, she nodded to herself, _avoid the entire conflict in the first place._ That would have been the witch's decision.

But alas, the decision to bring the mysterious woman along was not hers to make. _And now_, Morrigan observed, _Our dear leader takes to slaughtering us by her own hand_, she thought as she gave a derisive snort. _At this rate, the darkspawn will have no need to hunt us down._

Leliana stirred at that moment, bringing a hand to her head as her eyes slowly opened. Elissa's grip tightened on her hand. The faux-brunette's eyes drew down to the source of that sensation. She bolted up, gasping as she backed away, jerking her hand out of the Warden's grasp, fear evident in her eyes. She backed right into Morrigan and flinched again, though she relaxed when she saw who was behind her.

Elissa gazed at the floor, unable to meet the eyes of the woman she had assaulted. Leliana was paler than normal and the Warden guessed it had much to do with blood loss from the savage attack. No amount of words could express her remorse for her actions. Her heart ached when the bard flinched away from her. _It's no less than I deserve. Why should she trust me now?_ she thought, biting her lip to hold back further tears. Her fist clenched, her eyes closed. She stood and turned to leave.

"It's all right, Leliana," she heard Alistair try to soothe the Sister, as she left through the flap, "No one's going to hurt you…,"

_That_, bit. Deep. Elissa paused with her back to the tent. She heard murmured voices, but decided not to focus on what they were saying. It didn't matter anyway. She'd made up her mind already. There was only one thing she could do, and she had decided on it the moment she'd seen the raw fear reflected back at her from Leliana's dark, accusing eyes.

She shook her head and walked quietly to where Lightning was tied. He nickered softly and pawed the ground at her approach. She smiled ruefully at him. "No, boy, you cannot come with me. They would track you," she murmured, patting his nose softly. He snorted in response. She paused a moment, to look him in the eye. "Goodbye old friend," she whispered, throwing her arms around his neck. He made soft grunts in response to her embrace. Her tears fell faster to land in his fur.

A few moments later, there was a gentle nudge at her thigh, and a familiar whine. She absently patted the mabari's head. He whined and nudged her again, leaning into her hand. "Stay here," she instructed him. He sat down on his haunches and eyed her inquisitively. When she walked away from him, he gave another low whine. Though her heart ached, already missing his companionship, she raised a finger to her lips and the hound silenced immediately. A well-trained hound he was, she regarded him with a bittersweet smile.

It only took her a short while to gather a minimal amount of supplies from the supply cart, which she put into a small sack and looped it over her shoulder. She grabbed a sturdy, but unremarkable sword from the stash of spares the group had scavenged along the way, and shoved it into an equally drab scabbard which she then hooked onto the swordbelt at her hip. The armor she'd chosen was a simple hard leather set. It wouldn't provide much protection, but neither would it hinder her movements and tonight, she would need to move as quickly as possible. The others would surely notice her gone by morning she noted. Her eyes took in the grayish pallor of the skyline and she realized suddenly that she had less time than she had thought. Giving one last glance to her dear mabari, she turned and headed deeper into the forest.

OOOOOOO

The moment she left the safety of the camp, the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention, sending chills down her spine. Darkspawn roamed everywhere. The wood was crawling with them. She could feel their proximity in her gut.

Elissa chose her directions by following, or rather, by _avoiding_ the pull of the Taint. It was hours yet to daylight and she did not want to fight them alone in the dark. Not if she could help it. Her steps were light and quiet on the forest floor, avoiding fallen twigs as expertly as any adept ranger. Her many exploits of running away from home had taught her well how to avoid being seen and heard. Her many captures at the hands of her father's scouts, had also taught her how to avoid being tracked.

She wandered the heart of the forest for hours as the skies slowly lightened, the night waning away into soft yellow light. Suddenly, the hairs on her neck stood to attention again. Her ears picked up the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut. Instinctively, she froze, straining her ears for further clues as to who her assailant was.

She held her breath, her hand reaching slowly for her sword. In a moment, she gripped the hilt, her fingers closing around the smooth metal.

Before she could draw it, however, a dagger was pressed into her throat. Her opposite arm was jerked painfully upward behind her back. Elissa mentally kicked herself. She knew better than to move in daylight in a place as dangerous as this. She should have found a safe place to rest as soon there was light enough to see by.

An accented voice as smooth as satin drifted to her ears. "Well now, what do we have here?" It was a woman's voice, that much she could tell. The woman was also shorter than she was, she noted. As the taller of the two, she was being pulled into a downward angle so her assailant could keep the threatening hold on her. Her heart rate increased as she wondered what she could do to get out of this mess she'd literally walked right into. She knew there was at least one other that she could not see, the archer. Where was he? She tried to triangulate the direction where she'd heard the sound of his bow from.

"I wonder what we should do with you?" the woman holding the knife on her mused. Another voice, distinctly male, called from her left, though she still could not see him.

"She's armed…kill her,"

"Hmm…," the woman seemed to take her time considering this option. Then, she leaned into Elissa's ear and murmured, "You know,… he's probably right."

Elissa swallowed thickly, forcing down the rising tide of fear welling up in her gut. Since this whole Blight mess had begun, she hadn't had the time to be afraid. And since, she'd had her companions to help her. She hadn't felt afraid, because she had trusted them, trusted in their abilities. As skilled as she was, her only training was from her brother Fergus and Ser Gilmore. She'd never had to fight alone, not for real. Certainly not for her life. And she was outnumbered.

A wry smile twisted her lips, her thoughts turning back on the events of the previous hours. "Perhaps this is my penance," she said, a steady calm settling over her mind. It filled her heart with peace. She prayed it would be a swift death, the sooner to see her beloved family once more. A small, happy smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

* * *

A/N: OMG! I actually finished this tonight! Woot! XDDDDDD! Also, omg, I feel like such a baka, I just figured out how to separate with lines (forehead smack)!


	21. Penance, part 1

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch. 21: Penance, part 1.

_The halls of Cousland Keep echoed with peals of laughter. The slapping of bare feet against the stone resounded from the walls. The smell of Nan cooking in the kitchens drifted through the courtyard. A general sense of well-being permeated the atmosphere, convincing the Cousland daughter, that all of her previous night-terrors regarding the darkspawn and the rising Blight, were simply unfounded. _

_Anxieties about her upcoming marriage to whatever unlucky duke her mother happened to ensnare through her cunning, were beginning to coalesce into her dreams, creating these fanciful, though no less terrifying nightmares. _

_Yes, that's all it was. If there was truly a Blight on the horizon, her father and Fergus, and all of Highever's men would be called to the front, would they not? No such call had come down from on high, so logic must remain that it was only in the Fade that these nightmares existed. _

_**Where could he be? **__She wondered aloud to herself, though she needed only recall the times when it was she doing the hiding, and Fergus doing the finding. __**If I were not-but-ten…**_

_There were quite a few places a body that size could hide in the castle, this she knew from personal experience, however, there were certain favo-rite places the boy often resorted to. She kept a steady gaze on her periphery, making her way down the halls, lest the smallest rustle of curtains or furniture go unnoticed. _

_In the foyer of the main apartments, there was a stifled giggle of higher pitch, as though someone nearby had tried to hold it in. She grinned and quietly slid open the heavy door to her brother and sister-in-law's quarters._

_She found him there, beneath the large bed, one pale, bare foot only just sticking out from where the body was tucked, though, being the good Auntie that she was, Elissa gave the pretense of not having seen anything, going to the window, to feign the assumption that he hid below, just outside._

_A stifled giggle, her just answer, also went ignored by the elder Cousland, who instead pulled open the grand armoire, with a triumphant, "Aha!" only to reveal the Lady Oriana's fine selection of dresses. A quick flutter of the hand this way and back along the delicate linens revealed no young boy hiding amongst them. Elissa gave a defeated sigh and slowly paced the room, pausing at the edge of the bed, when Oren's foot tensed._

_A tender, knowing smile crept onto her face, and she stood there a moment, allowing her nephew a few moments to squirm and wonder if he'd been caught. _

"_Alas, I have lost him!" she cried out, falling onto the bed with great drama. She turned to lay on her stomach, ruminating her regret. "Whatever shall I do? How will I explain this to Fergus? To Oriana?…"_

_Oren, for his part, held both hands over his mouth to keep his breath from discovery, and tried as well as he could to hold absolutely, utterly, still. Elissa indulged her brother's son a few moments more. "Perhaps they can adopt a new son, an orphan boy…"_

_A tiny fear-struck gasp reached her ears, tempting her grin to grow wider. _

"_Or…perhaps…they can have…"_

_Elissa reached down quick as thunderbolt and snagged the slim, pale ankle._

"…_this one, right here!" she exclaimed._

_One hand mercilessly tickled the unprotected foot, while the other remained firmly grasping the ankle. Oren squealed with delight, desperately kicking with the captive foot in an attempt to wrest it free. "Oh, Auntie! Auntie, stop!" he begged, laughing all the while._

"_Shall I?" Elissa wondered aloud. "I'm in no discomfort… are you?"_

_Oren squealed and writhed, gasping for breath between each giggle. "Auntie… please…I can't breathe…"_

"_Oh, alright," Elissa conceded, dropping her nephew's ankle. "Come now," she instructed, rising from the bed, "Your supper cools by the moment,"_

_Oren did not respond to her._

"_Oren," Elissa called, kneeling by the bed, "Come out from there,"_

_The boy still made no visible response. His body lay curled and still beneath the bed. Elissa grasped him by the ankle and pulled him out. "The shall be more time for games after supper," she promised, but still, Oren lay unresponsive. _

"_Oren…?" she called, cautious now. She had noticed the cold feel to his skin, at first when pulling him out from under the bed, but had attributed the fact to his only being clothed in his nightwear. Now, the caution she held was due in part to the filthy, matted mess of his hair, the stiff feel to his body. "Oren…?" her voice trembled now as she finally noticed the long black streak of coagulated stain that marred the cobbles beside him._

_Elissa's breath shook as she called out to her nephew once more, her hand shook as she touched his cold, stiff shoulder to turn him onto his back, her heart shook with grief as she finally saw the wound, the gaping slit beneath his chin, from ear to ear, leaking red-black trails down his neck, onto his shirt, and to the floor below. "Oren!," she gasped, overwhelmed with the familiar memory._

_The boy's eyes snapped open at the sound of his name, though what she was in them was not his eyes, but rather, swirling pools of pure, midnight-black. She gasped and backed away. Oren reached for her with one small hand, the muscles in his throat working as he tried to breathe, red-black tears spilling from the dark pools that were his eyes, "Auntie…why didn't you save me…?"_

"_No!" Elissa protested, grasping her head with both hands, "this can't be happening!" though the memory confirmed itself with the stench of acrid black smoke, the screams of a hundred men, the thick, red blood oozing toward her._

"_Yes, sister…"_

_Elissa whirled at the familiar voice. Oriana lay on her back, beside her, a similar wound in her own neck, the same dead-black eyes staring at her accusingly, "Why did you not save us…?"_

"_No!" Elissa shouted. She staggered to her feet and fled the room, only to stumble at the sight of Nan and her two elven assistants, also slaughtered, and also accusing her for her failure. _

"_Why didn't you save us, My Lady…?"_

_Elissa ran as fast as she could, to no avail. Somehow, Oren, Oriana, Nan, and the two servants were able to keep pace with her, though they merely crawled. Elissa paused at the sight of a familiar form. "No…" she gasped._

_Damien, her dearest, lifelong friend, turned his face from where he lay slain, to join in the accusations. "Izzy…why? Why didn't you save me…?"_

"_No!" she shouted at him, then turned to the advancing others, "You're all dead! Dead!"_

"_Why didn't you save us…?" they shouted as one as they all reached for her._

"_Why didn't you save us?" the chant echoed repeatedly behind her, as she ran. Elissa slammed shut the door of the larder. _

_A pain-filled grunt reached her ears. She turned to face the sound, and there, found her father, lifeblood spilling to the floor from a wound in his gut, her mother kneeling over him protectively. _

"_Papa!" she shouted._

"_Pup…?" Bryce turned dead-black eyes to face her._

"_No!" she gasped, a hand going to her mouth, as the door first shuddered, then splintered, with blows against it. _

"_Why didn't you save me?" her father accused, pleading at her from the floor with dead eyes._

"_Darling," Elissa's mother turned to face her, the same, eerie death-eyes in her face as well, though she was not injured in any way that Elissa could visibly see. "Why didn't you save us?" Eleanor accused her daughter. _

_The door finally gave and the other accusers slowly crawled toward her, as Bryce and Eleanor did, eight pairs of blackened, coal-dark eyes accused her. "Why didn't you save us?" the group chanted in unison._

_Elissa backed away from the advancing mob. "I couldn't!" she shouted in self-defence._

"_Why didn't you save us?" the mob repeated, slowly advancing toward her._

_Elissa tripped backward, finding herself on the floor with the mob of her dead loved-ones crawling toward her, Oren at the head of the pack. "Don't you understand that I couldn't! I couldn't save you! I couldn't save any of you!"_

"_I'm sorry!"_

"_Why didn't you save us?"_

"_I'm so sorry!"_

"_Why didn't you save us?"_

_A small hand reached out and grasped her shirt. "Auntie…" _

_Elissa screamed._

* * *

Leliana was the first to wake that morning. Something was off, different. She couldn't put her finger on it, but long years of well-honed instinct hardly ever served her wrong.

She sat up in her bedroll and glanced about her surroundings. All of her personal belongings were right where they should be. Nothing in particular seemed to be out of the ordinary.

The sun was already up. This immediately was unusual, the bard noted. Normally, the Warden was up and waking the others right at dawn-break.

The bard crawled out of her bedroll and noted the templar beside her, a few paces away, snoring heavily. The witch, on the other side of the dying campfire, was also beginning to stir.

Something pushed at her legs, knee-high, from behind. A soft chuff, then a familiar whine.

Leliana turned to see the mabari, Sabre, staring intently into her eyes. He wanted something. The intellect shining in his gaze spoke volumes. It was rare that he left the Warden's side, so his presence could mean only one thing.

"Where is your master?" Leliana asked the beast.

Sabre turned his head to the side, ears cocked, and whined gently.

"Where is she?" the bard gently prodded.

Sabre whined again, and nudged her leg. He turned and walked toward the edge of camp, then turned back to her and gave a sharp bark.

Morrigan glanced in their direction momentarily from her morning routine of brushing, then putting up her hair.

Alistair stirred in his bed roll, "Mm…five more minutes…"

Leliana ignored them both, quick to catch on to the mabari's intuition. "Do…you wish me to follow you?"

Sabre barked, his tail wagging happily. He turned about, hopping in excited circles. He ran back to Leliana and nudged her leg again, then he pranced before her, barking excitedly. He ran back to the edge of camp, and turned his massive head back to glance at her. His eyes seemed to glow with intellect, as if he were saying to her, "Yes! Follow me!"

* * *

Sitting up was only the most instinctive reflex from finding herself prone on her back. Commanding her eyes open, the world was no longer the most horrible night of her life, but rather, a calm, cool morning. Birds sang happily from their perches in the branches of the trees that surrounded her. Halla nickered softly in their pen. Elves wandered about the area, already making busy at their individual tasks though the sun had yet to clear the horizon, judging by the soft grey twilight of the dawn.

The pounding of her heart subsided with the growing realization that her night-terrors were no threat in the wake of daylight.

"Ah, Warden, you're awake. Good."

Elissa turned to the familiar voice, of the elf clan's second-in-command. Mithra, if her memory served correct. In retrospect, how could Elissa possibly forget? Only a day had passed.

"_She's armed…kill her,"_

"_Hm, you know…he's probably right" the female voice slithered threateningly in her ear. Elissa smiled calmly. Instinct told her she was outnumbered. She had heard the sound of the bow being drawn. Another held her pinned in at an awkward angle. She heard the voices of several others whispering in low tones. A struggle would be no use, and would likely only serve to anger her captors._

"_Try it, if you possess the conviction you claim," Elissa taunted back at the unseen woman. She winced as the dagger dug deeper into her neck._

"_Is that a threat, shemlen?" the woman behind her demanded._

"_Mithra, stop this!" A male elf approached, though from her position, Elissa could not tell from which direction he had come. _

_There was a painful backwards jerk of her head, as the female elf pulled her head back. "They come into our wood, murder our people," she spat, "they steal our children to take back to their cities as slaves!" The roar of her rage apparent to all. "And you would make peace with them?"_

"_Hold!" another, slightly taller, male elf stepped forward, bow held low at his side, "Can neither of you see? She bears the herald of the Wardens. What madness claims you?"_

_The first male elf spoke up now. " We should alert Zathrian,"_

_Mithra, the one holding her, snorted disgustedly. "It seems, you are saved…for the moment, shem,"_

_The rest was blurred by a stiff blow to the temple, the world fuzzing, then fading to darkness, the sound of the female elf's command distorted in her ears, "Bind her,"_

_OOO_

_Elissa woke next with her arms tied behind her back. She struggled to her knees, then to her feet, forcing her vision to focus on the blurry visage of a slight, balding elf. _

"_Warden. I do apologize for the…enthusiasm of certain members of our clan. It is her duty to protect the wood we inhabit," the tattooed-faced elf said as he stepped behind her and removed the bonds._

_Elissa shook her head to clear it, then gazed at the wizened elf. "Are you…?"_

_The elf seemed to understand her question, and nodded in response. "I am the leader of this clan, the hahren. What business brings a Grey Warden here?"_

_Elissa sighed. "There is a man, a fellow Warden. He may seek your aid in days to come. I'm sure you know by now, the darkspawn gather in numbers, a Blight looms nigh. This Treaty," Elissa pulled out one of the time-worn, battered scrolls and handed it to him for inspection, "binds you to our cause,"_

_The elf examined the ancient document, then carefully handed it back, shaking his head. "Would that we had men to spare, Warden, but your Blight is no concern for us. We have our own problems now,"_

It was then that she learned of Witherfang, and the Curse placed upon these elves. A deal was struck. If she slew the beast, and brought its heart to Zathrian, he would agree to lend a legion of rangers to battle the darkspawn horde when the proper time arrived.

Elissa's temporary reverie broke at the sound of Mithra's voice once again.

"You have one hour. Make good use of it. The scouts will take you to the edge of the clearing, but no further," There was a long pause as her amber eyes drifted over Elissa's form. The elf clenched a fist tight at her side, her jaw ticked, belying the amicable words that came out of her mouth, strained though they were, "Luck… be with you, Warden,"

* * *

"Um…are you even sure we're going the right way?" Alistair spoke up, somewhat timidly, then added in a not-entirely-sarcastic tone, "I swear I've seen that tree before…"

Leliana turned back to fix her glare upon him, from which, the male Warden shrank into himself slightly. "Do you think he's wrong?" she queried, her voice coming strained from her bruised throat, as she tilted her head toward the mabari who kept pace ahead of them, at point, nose busily snuffling the ground.

Alistair blushed, "N-no, of course not,". Mabari were, as a general rule, fiercely loyal. There was no reason for Sabre to mislead them, every fibre of his being wanted to reunite with his master.

The war-hound stood stiff, pulling one leg up to his chest, the entire line of his body straightening from nose to tail-tip. He gave one sharp bark, then sped off at a run through the thickening trees.

Leliana smiled at Alistair. "What are you waiting for?" her smile broke into a grin, as she trailed after Elissa's dog, her only thought for seeing the woman once again. What pain and guilt must she have felt, to have the need to abandon them, "_for their own good_"?

_Well, she won't get away with that_, the bard thought, quickening her sprint to keep pace with the mabari, as she heard the clank of Alistair's armor and the swift footsteps of Morrigan close behind.

* * *

Mithra was right. The elven scouts led Elissa to the edge of the clearing, but not a single one dared a step further into what they regarded as the Wolf-Wood. A dense mist hung so heavy and thick in the air here, that one could hardly see their hand before their face. An ominous howl rang out in the distance.

The elves looked to one another, nervously shifting in place. Elissa drew her sword. She turned to her temporary companions and bid them farewell. Most only nodded. One of them, a young male, bade her an elven parting, "Mythal guide and keep you, Warden,"

With a final nod, he turned and ran to catch up with his brethren.

Elissa stepped into the cool, thick mist.

Her path to the ruins was rather straightforward. There were several minor run-ins with both Blight-wolves and Were-wolves, though neither were in numbers great enough to overwhelm her.

She had met a strange, confused little man, whom she had to talk out of a nut, in order to return it to large, talking oak tree, who was so grateful, he gave her a branch that would allow her to pass through the magical barrier in the middle of the forest.

Now, she stood before an ancient, ruined building that must have served as a place of worship some many, many eons ago. The crumbling façade of the weathered stone that still remained was covered in a thick layer of moss and other vegetation. The pull of the Taint strengthened with each step she took toward the ruins.

Pausing at the entrance, Elissa drew her sword and offered up a prayer.

_Before I go to meet my Maker, let this be my Penance. _

_Andraste, absolve my Sin, as I free these people from the wretched Curse. _

_Let the blood of Witherfang cleanse my soul, before the darkspawn take me. _

* * *

A/N: Apologies for the severe delay with this one. Advice to those experiencing prolonged blockage- don't force what YOU _want_ the story to be, let it be what it will become, whether that was your original intent for the story's direction, or not. In other words, when you LET the story happen, it pretty much writes itself. I had, apparently, forgotten that.

On a side note, Mithra is not nearly quite as hostile as I make her out to be, but if you were elven, would you trust random humans?


	22. Penance, Part 2

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch. 22: Penance, part 2

It was suicide.

The cool air drifting up toward her face from the darkness of the entombed, cobweb-strewn entrance to the ruins whispered of ancient, maleficent magic, of deadly traps, and blighted, twisted, mutant creatures that were no longer of the Maker's design, but cursed by ancient, foul, blood-ridden magic. The stench that accompanied the stale, foul air was enough to cause lesser men to abandon claim on the previous night's meal.

Holding one hand up, defensively over her nose and mouth, Elissa stepped into the tomb, knowing this would be the last thing she did. One final act of justice, to cleanse the stain on her soul, and she could be with them once more. She could finally join her family in the Fade.

Ferelden didn't need her. Alistair was perfectly capable. He could lead her armies against the blighted darkspawn horde. Elissa was sure of it. He was more than capable. Why, not only was he a Warden, but he'd been one for a half-year longer than she! Surely, he would do just fine.

These were the deceitful thoughts that filled her mind as she crossed the threshold into the main corridor that lead down into the depths of the earth. The air was thicker here, as well as the cobwebs. It stank of dirt and damp and a lingering cold that could not have come only from the earthen stone.

Elissa tugged a few of the stronger webs down, out of her current path, shaking her arm to persuade the sticky, silken strands loose, though the action was ultimately of no avail.

The Warden had not walked three steps around the first corner when there came a loud, blood-chilling hiss from both behind and directly ahead. Elissa tensed her grip on her large great sword and waited for the fiends to show themselves. She hadn't long to wait, as two gigantic spiders dropped from their hidden perch above her on the ceiling, trapping her escape route, and one dropped down in front, barring any further advance.

She glanced quickly from the pair to the single. One of the two at her back reared upon its hindmost legs, mandibles clawing the air threateningly, warily staring at her with eight large, hideous eyes. It readied a wad of white-colored sputum within its maw, the other anxiously pacing behind, unable to advance due to the girth of the first arachnid's immense abdomen.

A quick glance at the other spider revealed that it was of a different kind, slighter, and a bright green, compared to the dark, hairy, tarantula-like spiders at her back. It was also, about to pounce. She had to do something, quick. Elissa had never seen a spider so large as either, let alone had to kill one.

The green spider ran forward at an alarming clip that was somehow not surprising for an insect. Elissa glanced back at the two behind her. The larger spider in front lunged at her, throwing its body forward. She leapt to one side, throwing her frame against a wall as the sticky mouthful of webbing sailed past.

The green spider let out what could only be described as a scream, as it struggled to free itself from the webbing. The large spider hissed and moved forward. Elissa had to back up to put distance between herself and the giant arachnid. The spider pounced. Elissa marveled at the impact. It was like being hit with a runaway merchant wagon, she thought, as she fell backward, onto the green spider. The green spider roared underneath the weight of both herself and the large brown spider.

There was no more time to think. She could barely hold the brown spider's snapping jaws away from herself. Bracing a leg out in front of her body, she struggled to get her sword into position with her right arm, while she batted and blocked the creatures other legs with her left.

A sharp, stabbing sensation ripped through her right ankle. Glancing there briefly, she saw the second tarantula spider attempting to make a meal of her leg. Wresting her blade free from its sheathe on her back, she stabbed it into the gut of the wretched creature snapping its mandibles in the air in front of her face. She felt something snap as a loud pop rang out in the corridor and warm, thick black fluid oozed down onto her hands and arms, some of it marking her armor and the floor where it dripped. The giant arachnid above her hissed a blood-freezing screech as its lower abdomen sank to the dingy floor, separated from its thorax.

The second tarantula-spider reared back on it's hindmost legs, threatening Elissa with a dangerous hiss. Here, the Warden saw her opportunity. Pushing herself from the green arachnid beneath her, Elissa lunged forward, stabbing the second large spider directly in its oversized gut.

Behind her, the green spider finally wrested itself free from the sticky webbing of its larger counterparts. It rushed her, but was too late, the Warden's blade slicing down to separate its head from body with a thick squelch.

"Well, isn't this lovely," Elissa murmured to herself, wrenching her blade free from the dead spider and wiping green blood and guts along her trousers leg. "Not five minutes in and I've barely survived by the skin of my teeth."

Things were not boding well for her current quest. She'd be lucky enough to retrieve the heart of Witherfang. Making it out of the tomb alive was a different matter. She ruminated to herself some more, boots crunching a noisy path in the dead foliage and other, less identifiable debris littered over the floor.

"The next thing you know, I'll be ambushed by corpses or some-" _thing_, she was going to say, only to be cut off by a screeching, sword-wielding skeleton as the foul thing lunged at her, swinging a rusty sword about in a haphazard manner.

Elissa would have been done at separating the creature from its head in a single, double-handed blow from her sword, had the noise of their struggle not summoned six more of the same. The Warden hacked her way through these as well with little expended effort, wandering deeper into the ruins as she went.

The sound of bones crunching beneath her boots became a welcome distraction from the disconcerting still of the tomb. The ambushes were random and though her ears were trained for the slightest noise, the creatures here never made any until they were upon her. It was only by her own wit and strength of will that she progressed further in to the heart of the darkness ahead.

Before her the pathway opened to a large room filled with what appeared to be treasure, and piles of corpses. It did not look encouraging. Whatever creature had managed to slay the previous adventurers, it must be quite large. The remains of the bodies were mangled, limbs twisted in impossible ways. The very thought chilled her to the bone.

This one last thing she had promised to the memory of Damien -to free the Dalish from their curse- could she do it? Would she even make it alive to see Witherfang dead? From the very moment her ordeal had begun at the hands of Arl Howe, Elissa had faced death with a sense of honor, of duty. She would prevail simply because her force of will was enough to see her through.

Now, a new sensation filled her mind: doubt.

* * *

It was heroic, but it was also brazen and dangerous. Leliana shook her head. In her years training under Marjolaine, she had acquired a vast knowledge of the workings of the human mind and soul. In her line of work as a bard, that knowledge had been invaluable to her and had served her well.

She had not known Elissa for very long, nor did she know the young woman intimately, but what she did know of her made the Warden's actions pitiable through the bard's eyes. In a rush of desperation, fueled by sorrow, for she had certainly not been in a stable frame of mind that night, the Warden had lashed out and hurt her.

To save Leliana, Alistair and Morrigan from herself, she had abandoned them to go a separate way. It was so obvious to the bard that it hurt, a physical manifestation of the compassion she felt. Elissa was the one who needed saving.

She could only hope they would find her in time.

* * *

The Warden glanced about her surroundings. Her eyes fell on a pile of rotted bones at her feet near the doorway. She bent down and picked one out of the pile. It must have been an armbone or a legbone at one time, considering the size and shape, it was fairly humanoid. A shiver ran up her spine. Elissa tossed the bone out into the middle of the large, empty chamber. The bone clattered noisily to the stone floor, the sound reverberating like a giant cataclysm in the quiet stillness.

Nothing happened.

Elissa let out a breath and stepped forward into the chamber. Her footfalls echoed in her ears, yet they did all throughout the tomb. If there were demons nearby, they would have revealed themselves by now, and if there were darkspawn, she would feel it.

An uneasy feeling settled into her belly as she took further steps into the room. She was well into the chamber by now, stepping aside the rotting remains of dozens, if not hundreds.

A screeching hiss reached her ears and she whirled to it, blade drawn. The dragonet was little taller than her own Mabari hound, but even a Mabari could do serious damage when its intent was to kill. The immature dragonling, its wings not yet formed enough to allow flight, rushed forward on its hindquarters, hissing at her.

Elissa sidestepped the drakeling and brought her sword down on the thing's tail, slicing through rock-hard scale, bone, and sinew till she felt stone. The dismembered appendage twitched and flickered with its final throes. The Warden stepped back , keeping careful distance of the poisonous spikes at the tip. The dragon spawn screeched its rage at her and Elissa turned her attention to finishing it.

Fiery pain shot through her right calf and for a moment, Elissa thought she had stepped into one of the barbed-steel leg traps that had been littered throughout the chamber. A pulling sensation, along with the tearing of flesh, alerted her reasoning. She took her eye from the advancing drake momentarily to glance behind her.

A second drakeling had its teeth buried in her leg and tried to make a meal of it, worrying the wound, though it had not the strength to rip the chunk free. Elissa swept her blade down swift and forcibly, slicing through the hide at the drakelets' nape. The body dropped, twitching with jerking spasms. She turned back to the first dragonling, only to find herself surrounded by five more.

They came as one rushing her for what she figured they thought of as an easy meal. Elissa turned the pommel in her grip and swung her sword out in a wide arc, hitting the first one on her right with the flat of the blade. The force of her swing knocked the dragonet far to the left into the next one, the clash of bodies stunning each one as they continued the trajectory and so on. The one behind her, Elissa swept out and kicked into the stone wall opposite its brothers. A wet crunch echoed in the chamber as the body slid to the ground and lay still.

The Warden bent and dropped her sword a moment. She pried at the jaws of the dragonling she'd decapitated. With a bit of work, they came loose of her flesh and trews. She tossed the head to the ground and stood, re-equipping her blade as the nest of dragonets regained their bearings.

The tailless one screeched fury at her and rushed again, jaws snapping. It lunged into the air, using its underdeveloped wings to carry it further. Elissa spun out of the way and stabbed up under the things ribs, driving her blade deep until it pierced the heart and the tip protruded from the drake's chest. It died with a final, furious screech as Elissa cleared the body from her blade, stepping on the drake to still it as she pulled her sword free.

Two came at her together while another tried to flank her on the left side. The first of the pair coiled its serpentine neck as it neared her. While the second distracted the Warden, drawing her blade, the first lashed forward with the speed of a whip. Elissa stepped back quickly enough to avoid a fatal wound, though not the teeth altogether. The unmistakable fire of pain flared across her gut as the thing came away with a scrap of hardened leather in its jaw.

The one at her flank lunged, leaping some three feet into the air. The Warden shifted her weight and knocked it back with an elbow. The dragonet skidded across the chamber and leapt back up, rushing at her again as soon as it regained its footing. The brief reprieve was only so. A heavy weight slammed into her back and Elissa almost lost her balance. She stumbled a few steps forward and cursed as the one unaccounted for dragonet bit into her neck.

"Aaargh! FucktheFates!" she yelled, momentarily stunned by the sensation of razor-like teeth ripping in to her flesh. She gripped the dragonet by its own scaly neck and pulled it over her shoulder, flipping the drakeling onto its back. Her blade found its heart quick as its few remaining brothers advanced. Those three met similarly gruesome fates.

Elissa stood, panting while she reassessed her surroundings. In the fighting, she'd turned to face the entryway. Wiping the dragonet blood from her blade with a pants leg, she counted the number of drake bodies all around. There were seven, all of roughly the same size and maturation.

The chamber was a nest.

Great rushes of air swept past her with rhythmic beats. Something heavy slammed into the ground behind her. The hair at her nape frazzled on end. A low, menacing rumble reverberated through her body, growing in pitch until it became a roar that shook the walls on their foundation, causing loose sand and broken bits of rock to fall free. The Warden licked dry lips, turned to face her fate.

* * *

"Maker's bloody Breath…" Alistair cursed under his breath, in horror of the rent-apart skeletons they came across, "they have _fangs_! Do you _see_ this?"

"We have eyes, fool" Morrigan muttered, more agitated than her usual state. Her golden eyes scanned every possible way for danger. She twirled her staff, either out of amusement, or nervous habit, Alistair didn't know.

Leliana had spoken not a word since they entered the ruins. Reverence and astonishment stole her voice. Statues to deities long-forgotten lined the halls, some twenty feet tall. Torches that had to have been lit aeons ago still burned brightly to light their way, despite all the time that had passed since the temple had last seen regular use. Ancient bones crumbled to dust at their feet. The bard supposed that even the most beautiful elven temple must eventually succumb to neglect and Time's touch.

The trio crept quietly in the Warden's wake of freshly-slain creatures. Piles of filth, bones, rubble and the unknown lay scattered about every direction. Each room and every corridor potentially housed a horde of creatures waiting for the opportunity to ambush them. They met a fair share of creatures in rooms that the Warden hadn't visited.

"Hold," Leliana whispered, stopping Morrigan and Alistair with a hand.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Alistair asked in concern.

The bard crept into a darkened room. Alistair accompanied close-behind her, in case something happened. Morrigan stood watch from just outside the doorway. In the faint light coming from a crack in the ceiling above, Alistair could just make out a large lock-box in the corner of the room. Leliana reached up into her hair at the back of her head and pulled out a small pin. She knelt before the box and stuck the pin into the keyhole. The tumblers clicked as she worked with deft fingers.

"Am I the only one here who finds it creepy that a Chantry Sister picks locks in her spare time?" he asked of no one in particular.

Morrigan sneered from the doorway in his general direction. "At least _she_ has talents to offer us, other than running her mouth,"

"Hey!" Alistair complained, folding his arms across his chest, "I'll have you know, I'm _very_ talented with my mouth!"

Morrigan slowly raised an eyebrow at him.

Leliana snickered and bit her lip to hold in her laughter. A few more tumbles and the lock 'clicked'. She opened the box to her companions' continued arguments.

"Is that so?"

"I once won a pie-eating contest. I ate _seven_ pies in _five_ minutes," His voice lowered some as he trailed off on the thought, "Then I threw up, all over the mess-hall. It was really rather disgusting, actually,"

"Not surprising," Morrigan smirked, voice laced with her usual tone of condescension, "You, and _disgusting_, go _sooo _well together." She smiled at herself.

Alistiar, defeated for the moment, hmphed. His attention turned to Leliana and what she'd found. The bard stood and handed over a few small vials of a health drink mix. "We may need these," she said, handing a few to Morrigan as well. The three made their way into the main corridor and headed back the way they had come.

In the midst of idle conversation, Leliana fell to her knees, grasping her head for the immense pain. An overwhelming sense of urgency flooded through her entire being, and in that instant, she saw the Warden, not far from where they were, and in grave danger.

"Are you alright?" Alistair asked as he helped the bard to her feet.

Leliana gripped his arm tight and her eyes flew open wide with fear. "Elissa!" she gasped. Her gaze met his. "We must hurry," she urged, and took off at a run.

* * *

Two large, beastly, grey pools, easily the size of a man's fist stared back her, set in a scaled face. Rows of teeth, each at least a foot long, if not more, glistened as the dragon opened its mouth, panting in oxygen. The eyes flicked to the pile of slain dragonets, then back to her. The creature roared mightily and reared on its hind legs, flapping its massive wings. The dragon's shriek shook the walls of the chamber and threatened to take the Warden off her balance.

Elissa dove to her left. A moment later, a rush of warmth followed her in a streaming jet from the dragon's maw. She rolled further, unable to get up for risk of charring. The fire stopped as the dragon took another great inhale. Elissa stood to her feet and rushed the grown drake, hoping to slay it before it could get off another fiery breath.

_THWACK!_

A large, clawed foot slammed against her side, the impact jarring her body and stealing her breath. A second impact hit her other side. It took the Warden long moments as she lay on the floor to realize that it was she who had hit the wall. Cloudy vision plagued her sight and she felt sick to her gut. She tried to stand as the dragon advanced on her, but her muscles proved too weak. Feebly, she tried again, and managed to stand, though her sword proved too heavy to grip. It clattered to the floor and as she bent to retrieve it, a wave of nausea slammed into her and she fell to her fours and emptied her gut and collapsed onto the stone.

The dragon screeched above her with ear-splitting pitch. Elissa forced her eyes up though the Fade strongly summoned her to the realm of dreams. Fear quickened her blood. Not like this. She couldn't die like this. Not with Damien, her family, -with _Oren_, still un-avenged. A tear spilled from her eye as she felt the dragon's fangs pierce her abdomen on either side.

In another moment, she wasn't crushed, but jarred again as her back slammed into the opposite wall. Somewhere in her daze, Elissa had a horrible revelation. It was toying with her. She felt a sense of somber peace with her next thought, at ease now that some of the blinding pain ebbed away with her desperate need for sleep.

Humans make fragile toys for dragons.

* * *

Notes: Now with weekly updates every Monday! See my profile for details. Hope you've enjoyed! See you next Monday!


	23. A Kiss Before Dying

-The Rose's Thorn-

Chapter 23: A Kiss Before Dying

"Elissa!" Leliana called out as she came upon the chamber, a horrific scene. A nest of dragonets lay slain all over the floor. The mother dragon had the Warden in its maw and flung her into the wall. Elissa slumped to the ground in a heap and lay motionless. The dragon's gaze returned to Leliana in the entryway. It reared back on its hind legs and sucked in a deep breath.

Alistair and Morrigan caught up.

"Oh. Shi-" Alistair trailed, coming upon the scene.

Morrigan pushed him to the ground where he had blocked her aim, "Down, fool!" she growled. A wave of ice-cold energy shot over his head. He glanced at the dragon to see it pawing at its mouth, a growing clump of ice sealing it shut, where it had been a split-moment from breathing them all to a toasty roast. The dragon screeched in muffled rage and shook its head in a feeble attempt to break free.

Leliana ran to check Elissa. The Warden lay on her side where she'd fallen. Blood soaked through her armor and her clothes from various wounds. Her face and lips were pale from the lack of it. The bard's heart thundered in her chest. Where they too late? She reached out to place two fingers under the Warden's jaw, and only breathed out when she felt a strong, vibrant pulse in proper rhythm. "Alistair!" she called.

"Whatever you plan to do, I suggest you do it quickly," Morrigan warned.

Leliana glanced up at this from the Witch. Morrigan spoke true. Before them, the dragon repeatedly slammed its head into the ground. Large pieces of the ice clump around its mouth broke and slid away. Soon, it would be free.

"We need to move her," Leliana said to Alistair, "but be careful, she may be injured worse than she appears." Alistair nodded gravely, he imagined there wasn't much worse Elissa could look. He reached down under arms and hefted the front of her body, while Leliana lifted the Warden's legs under her knees. They moved her back to the entryway and laid her down on the stone.

The dragon broke free of the ice. It gave a bellowing roar and lunged for Morrigan. She dodged and shot at it with short bolts of electricity. The dragon twitched with every zap as Morrigan shot it with rapid-fire succession. "Quickly, quickly!" she reminded, sidestepping another gnash of teeth in her direction.

Alistair ran full force into the dragon, bashing it back with his shield. It might have worked against a Hurlock, or something closer to human size, but the dragon seemed as fazed as if he were a gnat. It swiped at him with a clawed forefoot. Alistair was too slow in his heavy armor to dodge the blow. He held up his shield and braced for the impact. He went sprawling onto the floor.

Alternating shots of ice and spark harassed the dragon as Morrigan drew its attention away from the prone Templar. "Thanks Morr," he called, as he found his feet once more, "Didn't know you cared!"

"Only in your dreams, Templar," she chided with a roll of her eyes, as she continued firing alternate shots of ice and bolt.

"Right," Alistair rebuffed, "The day I dream of an apostate witch is the day I dance the Remigold nude in the King's chambers!"

Morrigan laughed with a bemused sense of humor. "Please, spare us the details of your wildest dreams, some of us have yet to dine this eve,"

Leliana took her opportunities at the dragon's flank, sinking her daggers where she could between the plates of its scales in the hide. Darting in and out, she did as much damage with her daggers as Alistair with his blade or Morrigan with her spells, possibly more. Or perhaps it was simply that she worked the same spot, bleeding it over and again. Whatever the reason, the dragon turned its attention to her.

"Leliana, look out!" Alistair warned.

The nimble bard evaded attack after attack after attack, but the dragon would not relent, regardless of Alistair or Morrigan's repeated attempts to regain its attention. The three working in tandem were too many for it and it was losing the fight. It turned its rage to Leliana, backing her into a corner of the chamber.

Leliana felt her back touch the far wall. The dragon coiled its neck as it neared her. Alistair vainly slashed and stabbed at the dragon's hindquarters, while Morrigan zapped it from a good distance away. The dragon paid them no heed. It hissed at Leliana and moved in to strike.

Leliana closed her eyes and offered up a prayer. _Maker, guide my hand_. She grabbed a flask from her belt on the side reserved for saboteur concoctions she'd mixed earlier. "Take this!" she yelled and flung a vial filled with acid at the dragon's face. The small glass container shattered against stone-hard scale and poured the contents directly across the beast's snout where it fizzled the scales and tissues away and the excess leaked into its eyes.

The dragon screeched horrendously loud in pain and anger. It stomped and lashed its tail wildly, causing the room to shudder and quake with its fury. Leliana rolled away from the danger as soon as she saw an opening.

"Alistair!" Morrigan called to him, eyes fixed on a large puddle where rainwater had collected from an hole in the ceiling. Between her two hands, she summoned a large ball of electric energy and strained to contain it where it gathered and grew in size and intensity. Alistair glanced her way, saw the electric ball of energy, followed her gaze to the puddle.

_BANG! BANG! BANG!BANG!_

He rapped his sword on his shield. "Hey big guy!" he called out to the dragon and banged his sword on his shield some more. "You want some of me? I make a niiice, yummy, din-dins…"

The dragon screeched and turned to the noise. It swiped out wildly with its claws, clearly blind. It followed the sound of Alistair's noise. Morrigan had the decency -_for once_, Alistair would later say of her- to wait until he was clear of the puddle.

The dragon screeched one final time, high and loud as Morrigan hit the puddle with her bolt-ball and the entire beast was engulfed in lightning. When the electric energy dissipated, the crisped beast let out a faint _meeerakk_ and collapsed onto its side with a thud that shook the chamber.

Alistair walked over and sliced into the thick hide of the dragon's neck. His blade went halfway and stopped from the hardiness of the sinew. Frustrated, he pulled it out and hacked again and again and again and again and again, and kept hacking, yelling all the while, even after his blade clanged on stone.

"I believe it is dead now," Morrigan said at his side.

Alistair did not acknowledge her snide comment. Instead, he walked over to the torso and stabbed his blade deep into the soft underbelly straight through the heart. "And this!" he yelled at the dead dragon, " is for Elissa!"

Leliana knelt at Elissa's side. The Warden's breaths were slow and even, her pulse strong against the bard's fingertips. Tears formed in her eyes. It was almost as if Elissa merely slept. How she wanted to believe that. Maker, how very much so. The tightness in Leliana's throat stretched down into her chest as she tried to breathe past it. She had seen it happen and been powerless to stop it.

Guilt ate at her conscience. _It's my fault._ If only she hadn't snuck into Elissa's tent… none of this would have turned out this way. The bard stroked Elissa's cheek with fond affection. She bent over and kissed the same cheek, her tears over spilling as she broke down. "Please…" she begged of no one in particular. She took Elissa's nearest hand into her own and squeezed it. "Please…" she repeated.

Alistair stood a ways off, to give her what little privacy he could. He didn't understand why the mysterious Chantry Sister should mourn someone who had tried, not too long ago, to kill her. Unless she was one of those sensitive people who mourned each and every death, including insects and worms. He felt _he_ had more right to be upset about this than she did, but he bit his tongue and let the lady have her turn first. That was what a man should do, much more so, a Templar.

Morrigan was the only one who seemed unaffected by it., Alistair noted. Not entirely, there _was_ a flicker of concern in her eyes, however small, but she simply did not seem to care. And why should she? She had only known them as much as escorting them out of the Korcari wilds and then to Lothering. She wasn't exactly the type to grow _close_ to anyone. She probably didn't want to, given her demeanor.

"We should move on," Morrigan reminded, "the day wastes," the rest she left unsaid, though it hung heavy in the air. None of them wanted to find out what crawled these ancient ruins at night.

"We can't just leave her," Leliana uttered, her voice still mending, broken from the sobbing she'd done.

"You stay with her," Alistair offered.

Leliana glanced up at him with unspoken gratitude in her eyes.

"Morrigan and I will go," he affirmed.

"I thank you for volunteering my services," Morrigan muttered, "So generous of you. Is there anything else you wish of me, oh, Great Warden?" she finished with a flourishing bow.

"Thank you, Alistair, Morrigan,"

Alistair said 'you're welcome', Morrigan did not acknowledge. They quietly left Leliana to guard over their fallen leader.

Leliana squeezed Elissa's hand again as her compatriots' footfalls ebbed away. "You're going to be alright," she whispered, then laid a kiss on the Warden's crown. She would be alright, Leliana nodded to herself. She just needed a little help. The bard gathered her courage and unclasped the first of the buckles that held the leather padding onto Elissa's body.

The straps came undone with ease. Leliana lifted Elissa's shoulders to peel the top layer away. She winced at the sight of blood staining the lower part of her shirt. She took a deep breath to brace herself and unlaced the leather ties at the top. With the collar now loose, she gently pulled the shirt over Elissa's head. She folded the shirt into a makeshift pillow with practiced movements and carefully tucked it beneath the warrior's head.

The armor had done its job, for the most part. Superficial scratches and cuts lined the Wardens arms, but her torso remained unscathed save for the ragged patch of cuts near her navel and the deeper gashes at her sides. Leliana checked these doubly over to be sure, the smaller cuts had already scabbed. The deeper wounds were bordered by dark bruises, the skin surrounding the gashes mottled an ugly deep purpling.

The bard winced, seeing the image again in her mind. The dragon shaking Elissa, then tossing her like a rag doll into the wall. Leliana flinched with the Warden's impact repeated in her mind's eye. She retrieved the small health vial from her side-pouch and scooted to kneel at Elissa's head. The bard carefully lifted the Warden's upper body onto her lap and removed the small cork from the vial. She tilted Elissa's head and coaxed her lips open with gentle fingers.

Elissa reacted strongly to the liquid, turning her face away from the offense and making a sound of discomfort. "Shhhh," Leliana calmed, stroking her cheek with the thumb of the same hand she used to support the Warden's head. "Please, drink. It will help you." She kept her words minimal so they would relay better through the Fade. Elissa protested with another weak groan, but did not fight Leliana when she put the vial back to her lips.

Leliana couldn't blame her. The health vial was the product of the latest scientific military research. It consisted of a powerful combination of the most horrendous-tasting medicines known to all races. The minerals from powdered lifestone would support the body's nutritional needs. The active oils steamed from elf root would help a wound clot better and faster than a simple compress.

Elissa sputtered and coughed as the last of the liquid went down her throat. Leliana stroked her hair where it was matted and sweaty. "Shhhh," she soothed.

"There now," she said when the Warden had calmed. She laid her back down. "Rest,"

Leliana removed a rolled wrap from her side-pouch, and some fresh elf root she'd picked just outside the entrance to the ruins. She unrolled the wrap and laid it under Elissa, lifting her back gently to place it there. When that was taken care of, she mashed the elf root between her hands to break open the veins of the plant and release the medicinal oils. The bard then placed a sprig over the wound on each side. She secured them with the wrap, which would also help to stop the bleeding. She tightened it a little, but not too tight.

Elissa's boots came off next, followed by her armor leggings and trousers. Leliana flinched at sight of her right leg. From the knee down, it had swollen to nearly twice the size of her left leg. The taut skin flamed deep red and warm to the touch. Leliana felt of it carefully, noting the superficial wounds in the calf and gasped when she saw the tell-tale twin holes on either side of her ankle. The bard reacted quickly and grabbed a second wrap from her pouch. This she wound tightly, right above Elissa's knee in a makeshift tourniquet. The tight lacing of Elissa's boots must have prevented the spider's venom from moving through her system too quickly.

Leliana did what she could. She pulled her dagger from its sheathe and carefully unscabbed the wounds, then encircled her hands around Elissa's leg just under the knee and pulled her hands down toward Elissa's ankle adding pressure as she repeated the long strokes. Blood and fouler liquids oozed from the bite into a puddle on the floor. When the venom and white pus quit draining, and it was only blood she could coax, Leliana dressed the wound with another small sprig of elf root.

The other leg was unscathed. The bard slowly turned the Warden onto her stomach. Her eyes stung at the sight, tears re-forming and spilling over. Elissa's back was one giant, dark bruise. Leliana winced, seeing it in her mind again. There was nothing she could do for it. Her fingertips trailed the swollen skin as gently as she could manage. Nothing felt broken.

Small clusters of scrapes and scratches marred Elissa's shoulders, neck and lower back, as if one of the dragonets had leapt upon her and scrabbled to hold on. Leliana could nothing for these, nor the wound at her calf. She slowly dressed the Warden again to ward off the damp of the ruined temple, leaving off only the boot which would not fit from the swelling.

* * *

The silence was maddening. Only the sound of their boots echoing off the stone gave Alistair any sense of time with each quiet moment that passed. Granted, Elissa didn't often say much, but she did respond when he would make conversation. She, at least, was not a female of the canine species, unlike _someone_, whom he would not call out by name.

"What do you think we'll find?" he asked, voice low in case there were any more fiends lying in ambush for them.

"Wolves? Werewolves? A giant Werewolf?" Morrigan retorted in her usual tone. "How the bloody Fade should I know? I've not been here any more than you have."

Alistiar quieted as they neared the final door down the way they had come. Morrgian seemed particularly agitated. Maybe she was more affected by what had happened to Elissa than he thought. Whatever the case, they were at the final door in the ruin. Witherfang lay behind here, he just knew it.

Morrigan shifted her grip on her staff. She nodded to him. Alistair shouldered the door open with a rough shove, splintering the wood in as the latch holding it shut gave. Morrigan rushed through behind him and stepped around firing bolts in all directions that fizzled into the walls.

"Huh?" Alistair asked of the empty room. "A dead end?"

Morrigan ignored him and searched the room.

"This can't be right," he denied.

"Here!" Morrigan called his attention at the far end of the room.

Alistair jogged over to see what she'd found.

Dark water lapped the edges of a deep hole in one corner of the room. It must lead to inner chamber of the temple somehow. They'd already scoured the ruin in their search for Elissa. Alistair sheathed his sword and Morrigan put away her staff in the loop of the belt across her back.

Alistair went first and Morrigan followed. It was dark down in the hole, but there was enough ambient light to see the exit about a hundred paces ahead. Alistair swam forward until there was light directly above him, then he swam up until he broke surface. He pulled himself up, straining at the extra weight of the water that bogged down his armor. He stood there, letting drain back into the pool and onto the floor.

"See? That wasn't so bad," Alistair said, turning to her, "was it, Morr-?"

Morrigan wasn't there.

She had been right behind him. And she wasn't there. For a moment, he wanted to believe she was playing a trick on him. Then reality set in. Morrigan was too serious for pranks, and in her place, a small set of bubbles reached the surface.

Alistair's instincts drove him. Breathing as deep as he could, he dove back into the hole. With a bit of searching he found her, struggling with something. In a moment he saw it. One of her legs was caught in a giant gnarl of a tree root. He swam over to her and put his hands on her shoulders to calm her.

Morrigan's eyes were wide and desperate with a panic he'd never seen in her. Alistair grabbed her face in his hands and put his lips on hers. Morrigan stiffened. She'd never had a man handle her so forcefully. It was usually she who made all the moves. She found it curiously erotic, even though she was sure moments from untimely death and Alistair was the _last _man she could ever find herself attracted to.

And then she realized what he was doing. Life-giving air filled her mouth, throat and lungs. Morrigan grasped Alistair's shoulders and pulled him closer to her as she accepted all she could, greedy and thankful for it. He broke from her, at his limit to what he could safely offer. He kicked at the root. It did not break but under the water, it gave enough for Morrigan to wriggle free. Alistair clasped Morrigan's hand and swam as hard as he could. Together, they broke the surface.

The sound of Morrigan gasping and coughing as the two of them lay side by side on the stone floor was bittersweet to Alistair's ears. He was glad she wasn't dead, but he doubted she would acknowledge what he had just done, or even bother to say-

"Thank…you.."

"What?" Alistair turned to her as he picked himself up, genuinely perplexed.

"Did you just say..?" he asked as she got to her feet.

Morrigan's eyes held something close to regret and a whole, market-day list of other emotions he couldn't define, clearly at war with one another. "I could have died, if it were not for your actions. Thank you, Alistair."

Her gaze lingered on him a moment longer than was absolutely necessary. He tried not to be creeped out by that. "Uh…you're welcome," he muttered as he carefully avoided the half-dozen corpses that lay all around the room, stepping over each one, covering his mouth to avoid gagging on the stench they gave off.


	24. A Deal with the Demon

-The Rose's Thorn-

Chapter 24: A Deal With The Demon

The door led into yet another chamber, which was unsurprising. Alistair wondered just how many twists and turns there could be to one ruined temple. He didn't have long to wonder, as several werewolves sprang upon them from the shadows.

Alistair bashed the first one right in the muzzle with a heavy blow from his shield. He could hear Morrigan fighting off another one somewhere to his left and behind him. The werewolf growled at him and slashed with razor-like talons that could gouge his entrails out onto the floor in a heart's beat. Alistair moved quickly to avoid the slice of those claws. He bashed the dread wolf in the skull with the hilt of his sword and stabbed it through the heart when it staggered for a moment, blinded by the pain.

The werewolf slid to the floor, a low howl its final dying word. Several more seemed to come from nowhere all at once as they bled out of the very shadows to the summons. Alistair heard Morrigan curse. He felt her back touch his. "They are too many" he heard her say.

All around, wolves gathered and closed in, circling them and trying to draw them into the first strike of what would quickly become a losing fight. Alistair slashed his sword in large arcs, back and forth, in an effort to keep the pack at bay.

Morrigan struck her staff down on a paw that had come too close. A sharp snap resounded as something broke. A pained whine, followed by a low growl came as reply. The beast edged closer and Morrigan fired off a warning shot of flame at the wolf's feet. It sidestepped and lowered itself on its haunches, readying to lunge.

A large, blue-grey blur struck the wolf from the side. Alistair took the opening and rammed the nearest wolf, using his shield and body as the weight behind the blow. Morrigan did the same. She summoned up a quick misdirection hex on the nearest wolf and when that was taken care of, she called forth a blizzard in the shape of a cone at the next one.

The wolves pounced on Alistair and Morrigan, but the blue-grey wolf tossed them aside. There were angry growls and accusing barks, but the blue-grey wolf silenced them all with his words.

"Stop! Brothers and Sisters, be at ease," he coaxed.

Morrigan looked at Alistair and he at her. They didn't need words to understand each other in that moment. Both knew to be ready. It could be a trick. Neither let their guard down, despite Blue-Grey's demeanor and appearance of civility.

The Blue-Grey wolf turned his gaze towards Morrigan and Alistair and spoke pointedly to them. He snarled a low warning. "We do not wish any more of our people hurt. I ask you this now, outsider: Are you willing to parley?"

Alistair felt unsure of trusting the wolf. Did he really want a truce? He glanced at Morrigan, who also seemed unconvinced of the wolf's sudden desire for peace. Morrigan spoke for him, when Alistair did not voice a response in enough time.

"We are talking right now, aren't we? So talk,"

Blue-Grey seemed perturbed at her haughty attitude. "Not with me," he snapped, then grudgingly added, "I have been sent to you on behalf of the Lady. She believes you may not be aware of everything you should be,"

Now, even Alistair raised brows in questioning. Things just kept getting more interesting…or, complicated, however you chose to look at it. Blue-Grey continued on.

"She means you no harm, provided your willingness to parley in peace, is an honest one,"

"Then take us to this Lady," Morrigan answered before Alistair could say anything in protest.

Blue-Grey gave another low, warning, begrudged growl. "Follow me…but I warn you, break your promise and harm the Lady, and I will return from the Fade itself to see you suffer,"

"Right," Alistair nodded in agreement, "Don't harm the Lady. Got it,"

Morrigan sighed.

Blue-Grey led them and the other wolves down a twisting set of corridors that led down three more flights of stairs and Alistair wondered just how far down into the depths of the earth the heart of the ruins lay. At the end of the third flight of stairs, Blue-Grey and his wolven brethren pushed open a large pair of stone doors.

Inside was a massive, round chamber, filled with light from above, where gigantic trees had grown from inside the chamber and broken through the roof. Moss clung to the walls where it had grown from the sunlight and the damp. Several wolves awaited them here, on a raised, rounded platform, including a dark-golden one Alistair recognized from their run-ins with him in the Brecilian Forest. Swiftrunner. What was he doing here?

Swiftrunner led the wolves in a threatening display of howls. Behind him, whence there had been nothing, a lone, nude, grey-skinned female figure slowly walked forward. The woman's hair was raven, her eyes coal-black with grey irises. Her hair fell neatly, just long enough to hide her breasts. Thin branches vined up her legs from the ankles, up the sides of her thighs, covering her womanly parts and trailing down her arms into long, thin, finger-like appendages. The female placed one of those branchy hands on Swiftrunner's shoulder and he fell to his knees.

The female addressed Morrigan and Alistair. Her voice echoed with an otherworldiness that gave a certain feeling of proof to her words. "I bid you welcome, mortals. I am the Lady of the Forest," she greeted.

Morrigan wasted no time or pretense. Any witch worth her salt could do simple parlor tricks. "What did you wish to speak of ?"

"No doubt you have questions, mortal. There are things that Zathrian has not told you." the Lady replied.

Morrigan had figured as much. For example, how had he become so wizened, when it was clearly known that almost all knowledge of Dalish magics and longevity had been lost in the Second Exalted March?

"Is that so?" Alistair asked, folding his arms across his chest, boldened by Morrigan's fortitude against the ethereal creature, "Such as?"

"It was Zathrian who created the curse which these people suffer," the Lady disclosed. "The same curse that Zathrian's own people now suffer."

Alistair and Morrigan stood silent as she further explicated the long history of Zathrian's involvement, her own origins, and the beginning of the werewolves' curse.

Alistair remained silent while Swiftrunner told of the horrors done to Zathrian as a young man, his son, tortured and slain, his daughter, raped and left for dead, who later killed herself after learning she was with child.

"He wanted revenge," Morrigan said aloud what they were both thinking. Alistair couldn't find it in himself to blame Zathrian. Any man would seek vengeance after such injury.

Swiftrunner stepped forward and told the rest. How Zathrian had come to the ruined temple and summoned the demon, bound it to the body of a Great Wolf, thus creating Witherfang. How he had set the Great Wolf upon the tribe of humans who had hurt his children. How most of the humans had been slaughtered, and how the few that had survived their wounds had become cursed with the everlasting form of the wolf, and the undying rage fueled by Zathrian's own lust for revenge.

The Lady further explained how the humans that had survived finally fled the forest, leaving their cursed brethren behind, how they were little more than mindless, savage creatures.

Swiftrunner fell to his knees before the Lady a second time. "Until I found you, My Lady. You gave me peace,"

The Lady told how she had soothed the leader of the Wolves' pack, calmed his rage, allowing his humanity to return, and how he had brought his brethren to her.

There was something Alistair wanted to know. "Why did you ambush the Dalish? Was it, for revenge?"

"In part," the demon admitted, "We seek to end the curse,"

Alistair did not know whether he could or should trust the spirit. He wished Elissa was there. She would know what to do. The spirit's words seemed genuine enough, but all his time training as a Templar told him that demons summoned from the Fade were terrible creatures seeking to turn mages into abominations, so they could use the mage's body to wreak utmost havok on the world of the living. He couldn't help sensing that somehow, blood magic had to have been involved in her summoning, and that did not ease him by any means.

"The crimes committed against Zathrian's children were grave, but they were committed centuries ago, by those who are long-dead."

Alistair faltered in his wariness. She did have a point. Revenge was kind of unnecessary when those you wanted revenge against were already dead.

The Lady explained how they had tried and failed time and again to summon Zathrian to the temple and how he had refused their plea over and again. "We will no longer be denied,"

At those words, Alistair understood why the wolves had attacked the Dalish. They must have felt they had force Zathrian's hand in summoning him to the temple if he would not come of his own accord. Swiftrunner confirmed Alistair's suspicions with a short growl.

"_Hrrr! _We spread the curse to his people, so he must end the curse to save them!"

The demon turned soft, pleading eyes to Alistiar. "Please mortal, you must go him. Bring him here. If he sees these creatures, hears their plight.. Surely, he will agree to end the curse,"

Alistair did not believe that for one second. He could not fathom that the demon believed it, either. It was probably just a ploy to get them to lure Zathrian here, where the wolves could kill him. The demon was playing on their sympathies.

"Why not simply kill them?" Morrigan asked.

Alistair's ears rushed with blood. He could not believe what he was hearing from Morrigan. He looked at her, incredulous. Morrigan simply regarded him as if he were a fool.

"Why would you think Zathrian would willingly agree to come here, alone?" Morrigan posed, "He is obviously no fool."

Alistair gaped. She was not seriously suggesting…

"We can kill the elves. Put them out of their misery. Kill Zathrian," she turned her words to the Lady, "and your curse is lifted, is it not?"

Alistair stood, rooted to his spot. His blood ran cold in his veins. Morrigan was talking of killing innocents that had nothing to do with any of this, or even had even done anything to them.

"Or we could leave them to suffer with the curse, as Zathrian has left you for centuries to the same fate," she told Swiftrunner.

"NO!" Alistair shouted and it reverberated along the walls of the ancient temple. All eyes turned to him, in forgetting the discussion of murder, by their surprise at his unexpected outburst. He slowly breathed to calm himself, and when he could speak, he glanced pointedly at Morrigan.

"Elissa wouldn't like that," he affirmed, standing tall and sure of himself in his conviction. "And I don't either,"

Morrigan seemed surprised, though she struggled not to show it in her features. She turned to the Lady.

"Kill Zathrian… or bring him here. I do not care which you choose, mortals. We simply wish the curse ended. If you do seek to persuade him to come here, tell him that if he refuses, I will ensure that Witherfang is _never_ found. He will _never_ cure his clan."

Alistair silently hoped that was enough. From what he did know of the elves and the little he had studied of the Dalish, family and especially _clan_, was everything to them. It made the most evolutionary sense, of course, considering they had been nearly wiped into extinction several hundred years ago.

The Lady told them of the passage leading back to the surface, just outside the opposite end of the chamber, and bid them farewell.

Alistair hoped he could persuade the man to come with them. Morrigan had been a little too quick to suggest murder for his comfort. He hoped Elissa would get better. He did not know how severe her injuries were, but when he and Morrigan had found Leliana at the dragon's nest, Elissa had not been in the best shape. Maker, she had not even been _conscious_. He prayed to the Maker for her speedy recovery. This being in charge thing was harder than it looked, and with Morrigan for his partner, he was not sure he could handle it.

* * *

Leliana sat on the stone floor, the Warden's head cradled in her lap. She shivered from the cold stone and the damp air, but Elissa's body radiated warmth. She gently stroked her fingers through Elissa's short, blonde hair. In another situation, she could almost imagine those gentle, hazel eyes, glancing up at her in fondness returned. It could be a lazy summer day, the heat of the sun warming their faces, their hearts light, without a care or worry to be had.

Leliana held fast to that wish, instead of this cruel reality. That, or even if it had to be against the Blight they now faced. That was a much more realistic fantasy, even with the hardships that came with it. Leliana touched her throat, where the wound was still bandaged and healing. Anything was better than this.

She laid her lips to Elissa's crown once more and said again, "You're going to be all right," and it was not something so simple as a fragile hope. This was something Leliana knew. She had no words to describe how she could know such a thing, but it was the same as her enduring faith in the Maker. She _knew _the Maker was still with his creations, in all things. She _knew_ her vision was real, she was not crazy. She _knew_ the Maker had sent it to her, just the same as she _knew_ in the moment upon recognizing Elissa at Dane's Refuge in Lothering that He, in his Infinite Wisdom, had wanted her to assist the Wardens. And in that same sense of _knowing_, of everlasting unshakable faith, she _knew_ Elissa would be all right.

That did not assuage her guilt over the matter. The bard was heartbroken with the weight of culpability for her actions. Seeing Elissa in such a vulnerable state was a constant reminder for Leliana of her own role in the way things had turned out. Every agonizing moment that passed threatened to falter Leliana's hard-won faith. She knew Elissa would be all right, and yet, she still lay there, unconscious as the minutes and hours passed. As the day wore on, Leliana's faith, though still rock-strong, would eventually waver. The bard shook her head. She did not believe that. Not yet.

Though her faith was strong, Leliana had seen this condition a number of times before. After taking too hard a blow, or one too many, the person, though very much alive in body, remained in the Fade -perhaps trapped-, unable to wake. Sometimes the person would wake, hours, days, weeks, even months or years later. Sometimes they never did.

The bard broke down and cried, squeezing Elissa's hand where she held it and resting her forehead on the Warden's. "I'm so sorry," she whispered through her tears, "Elissa, I'm so sorry, if only you could know how much… how much I-"

* * *

They found her huddled over the Warden, sobbing. "…so sorry…" the rest was spoken in through a choked whisper, and then she gasped on noticing their return. Wiping her cheeks and taking a moment to regain her composure, Leliana raised her head to them in acknowledging her companions.

"So… it turns out.." Alistair began, faltering for the words to say. He nervously shuffled from foot to foot, ran a hand through his hair.

" 'Twas Zathrian who initiated the curse," Morrigan interrupted him.

Alistair frowned at her and muttered "Rude much? I was telling her.."

"Not succinctly enough," Morrigan countered.

Leliana stood to her feet. She felt the anger bubbling up inside her until she trembled with rage. Zathrian? It was he? All those years in the Chantry must have left her skills a little rusty. She mentally kicked herself for not having noticed the signs of his shifty behavior before, how he had seemed unable, or unwilling to answer their questions, passing their concerns off as not so important of a priority as curing his own people. _Oh, indeed_.

"Will you come with us?" Alistair asked out of politeness, allowing Leliana the possibility of refusing.

The bard hesitated, unwilling to leave Elissa alone in this dangerous place. She glanced back at the sleeping Warden and opened her mouth to say so.

Before she could, Morrigan was already weaving a spell, her lips moving as she gently chanted the words. A soft purple light enveloped Elissa's body and when it was complete, she vanished. Leliana startled, looking to Morrigan for explanation.

"Oh, do not get your smallclothes twisted, Sister. 'Tis merely a cloak spell. She will remain hidden from all eyes, until I release it. Does that satisfy you?"

Leliana could hardly argue with that. A spell so good even she couldn't detect its presence, and she was good at detecting cloak spells, or at least she had been, under Marjolaine's tutelage all those years ago. It would be no match for the dreglings that lurked the ruin. Elissa would be safe until their return, provided nothing happened to Morrigan. But the bard had seen her in action and from what she could tell, Morrigan could certainly handle herself.

"Wont that drain your mana reserves…keeping the cloak spell up?" Alistair ventured, turning to Morrigan.

"Yes," she replied, her stoic countenance never slipping, "but there is nothing to be done for it," she finished as if it were some trivial, off-hand matter.

Alistair rummaged around in his supplies and pulled out three small vials filled with blue liquid. "Here," he said, offering them to her, "I found these earlier,"

Morrigan accepted one and held it up to the light. "Lyrium?" she glanced at him, where Alistair nodded in confirmation. "Thank you," she said, seeming astonished with his generosity. " 'Tis most kind of you, and they may come in handy, should Zathrian choose battle over surrender,"

Alistair nodded, "That's what I was thinking,"

Leliana gathered up her things and checked everything twice. She sheathed her daggers and glanced at Alistair and Morrigan. The look on her face was deadly enough to melt an ogre's hide off the body.

"Let's go get this bastard."


	25. Ending Things

-The Rose's Thorn-

Chapter 25: Ending Things

The journey back out to the main chamber of the ruin took less than ten minutes, the creatures having scattered at their earlier heavy losses in numbers and Leliana running with her companions up the way. The three slowed their paces and came to a halt. Who should they find kneeling over a pile of corpses?

"Ah, here you are already," Zathrian greeted.

"Zathrian? What are you doing here?" Alistair asked what they were all thinking.

Zathrian stood and smiled at them. "You have carved a safe path through the forest. Safe enough for me to follow, anyhow," he explained. "There was no way to tell what would happen, once you reached this ruin, so I decided to come myself," he shrugged off.

_Or you thought you couldn't trust us_, Leliana finished the implication in her head. The first thing she had learned as a bard, was that trust was the only real commodity in life, and there were limits to what it could buy. The second thing she had learned was that dishonesty was far more commonplace and if used correctly, could buy anything, or anyone. Her heart squeezed with a memory. Her chest tightened in pain. Elissa smiled and it was as radiant and glorious as the sun as she scooped her nephew into her arms. _Well, perhaps not anyone_.

The question remained. What did Zathrian want to buy with his dishonesty? Their cooperation of course, but why? If he wanted the heart of the beast, he was certainly powerful enough to do it himself, a centuries-old elven mage.

Alistair boldened himself, breaking the silence next. "We need to talk, you and I," he said, his voice steady, without the slightest waver. Morrigan was actually a little impressed, surprised that in the hour of need, he did not shy away like a beaten dog, as he so often seemed to prefer when it came to direct confrontations, and as she suspected he would have, had Elissa been well. He would have let her do the talking, and Morrigan had expected to be the one to persuade the wizened mage herself.

"Yes, yes, there will be plenty of time for that," Zathrian placated, waving off Alistair's concern with an air of impatience. His words were intended to mollify, Leliana could sense the diplomacy he attempted to employ, but the words only seemed to enrage her.

"Did you acquire the heart?"

"No, we didn't," Alistair admitted.

"You didn't?" Zathrian asked, his voice changing tone and climbing higher as the first signs of his anger began to show through. "Then why, may I ask, are you leaving the ruin?"

_Oh enough of this! _"To find you." Leliana nearly shouted at him. Beating around the bushes was expected of bards, but this time, tact was wearing thin her patience. Zathrian's eyes narrowed on her.

"It seems the spirit convinced you to act on her behalf. Might I inquire what she wants?"

"She won't summon Witherfang unless you break the curse," Alistair relayed what the Lady had said to him.

Zathrian addressed Alistair, claiming the spirit was actually Witherfang, and that it was she who had started the curse all those centuries ago. "The curse came first from her. Those she afflicted with it mirrored her own nature, becoming savage beast, as well as human,"

Leliana found that hard to believe. Why would the spirit want revenge on the human tribe? She did not know much of magic, but should the spirit not reflect the will the one who had summoned it?

"The werewolves have regained their minds," Alistair countered, recalling how the Blue-Grey wolf had stopped the fight when he and Morrigan were outnumbered. The 'wolves could have slaughtered them, if they had _wanted_ to.

Zathrian scoffed, voicing his disbelief in so many words. "They attacked my clan, and they were the same savages then as they have ever been." He stood, vindicated in his conviction. "They deserve to be wiped out, not defended."

Zathrian switched tactics. He tried to persuade Alistair and the others to follow him back into the ruin, where they could slay Witherfang. Alistair would not have it.

"I assure you, the werewolves have regained their minds," he insisted. "I give you my word, as a Templar,"

"Even so," Zathrian continued, " they are still the same worthless creatures that their ancestors were. They deserve nothing more than the misery they possess." Leliana could hear the hatred in his words, even before he suggested again to kill Witherfang.

Alistair persisted. "Do you still have so much hatred after all this time?"

Zathrian lost it. "You were not there!" he shouted. "You did not see what…" his voice cracked, "..what they did to my son…to my daughter, and so many others." Anger filled him. "You are not Dalish," he said, "How can you know how we had to struggle to be safe? How could I have let their crimes go unanswered?"

Alistair did not falter. "But that was _centuries_ ago," he reasoned.

"I remember them as if it were yesterday," Zathrian argued back, " Even if they are more than animals now, they desire nothing but revenge. They will never let my clan be."

Leliana spoke up then. The others might be fooled by his air peacekeeping, but she was not. "So your answer is to let them suffer forever?"

Zathrian turned his attention to her. "Tell me, if you held your own daughter's lifeless body in your arms, would you not also have sworn an eternity of pain on those who did such to her?"

The bard stepped back from the deep pain in his eyes. Would she have? Would she not? The bard's heart broke for the man. She understood pain and loss better than most, but the depths of his suffering, she could not fathom.

"Perhaps I would have," she agreed, " but who is suffering now?"

Zathrian sighed. Innocents was the answer. His own people, and the other Grey Warden. The 'wolves had taken this too far. It was time to settle things with the spirit.

"Very well. You wish me to go and talk? I will do so," he finally acquiesced, "But what if it is only more revenge they wish? Will you safeguard me from harm?"

Alistair nodded, agreed that they would.

Zathrian brought a hand to his forehead and shook his bald head. He stated his inability to find purpose in the act of parley with the spirit, then admitted that many centuries had passed. He agreed to see what the spirit had to say.

Leliana did not believe him for a moment. _That was almost too easy_. The man seemed agitated as he walked beside them, back down the long flight of stairs that led into the heart of the ruin. He would probably not truly listen to whatever the werewolves or the spirit had to say, his mind already decided on the matter. They walked on in silence the rest of the way, the tension in the air thick enough nearly to see.

The large, arched doorway stood open for them and as they reached the bottom of the stairway, Leliana could hear the menacing growls and barks intended for Zathrian, but also probably a little for Alistair, Morrigan, and herself if they thought of betraying the 'wolves. Zathrian headed the group as they walked to the center of the room. He walked right up to the Lady. Swiftrunner greeted him with a vicious snarl. Zathrian looked to the Lady.

"So here you are spirit," he said, holding his arms out to indicate her.

Swiftrunner would not stand for such degradation of the one who had helped he and his brethren regain their rational minds from the beasts they once were. With uncanny speed swifter than they eye could follow, he ran up into Zathrian's face, growling out a warning.

"She is the Lady of the Forest!" His eyes narrowed on the elf who stood a foot and a half shorter than he. "You will adresss her properly," he cautioned, before walking off back to his place at her side. The Lady rubbed a soothing hand down his back in short strokes. The tension in him seemed to drain a little.

Zathrian condescended, "You've taken a name, spirit? And you've given names to your pets? These…beasts who follow you?" He could not understand what had happened here. What sort of abomination was this?

The Lady spoke calmly. Leliana had yet to see the "terrible" side of her, in fact. The Lady remained the calmest one of all. "It was they who named me, Zathrian. The names they take are their own. They follow me because I help them to find who they are," she explained.

Zathrian retorted in anger. "Who they are has not changed from who their ancestors were! Wild savages! Worthless dogs! Their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts,"

Leliana watched as Zathrian argued, as he had with them earlier. It was as though the Dalish elder was a small child, stamping his foot and crying to get what he wanted. He could not see the werewolves plight, their pain or suffering. And who was he to speak of monstrous hearts? When his own was far from that of a saint? She wanted to punch him right in his nose, perhaps break it. Could he not see that his own hatred merely caused more to suffer?

"He will not help us Lady," Swiftrunner growled, "it is as I warned you. He is not here to talk."

"No, I am here to talk," Zathrian calmly stated, "though I see little point in it. We all know where this will lead. Your nature compels it, as does mine."

The Lady stepped forward, pleading with him, hoping he would see the error of his way. "It does not have to be that way. There is room in your heart for compassion, Zathrian. Surely, your retribution is spent."

Zathrian shook his head, adamant in his resolve. "My retribution is eternal, spirit, as is my pain. This is justice, no more,"

The slight hint of smugness in his tone snapped Leliana's final thread. And using it to show emphasis for his own suffering? Oh, he was good, quite good. She stepped up to him, fingers twitching over her daggers. "End the curse, Zathrian," she spoke plain. "My friend- _our_ friend, lies trapped in the Fade, possibly forever, for your revenge. She is innocent in this! She has done you no harm! How is that justice?"

The Lady narrowed her grey eyes at him, scrutinizing. "Are you certain your pain is the only reason you will not end this curse? Have you told the mortals how it was created?" she challenged.

Zathrian did not answer her.

Alistair volunteered. "He said he summoned you and bound you to a wolf."

The Lady looked weary. "And so he did. Witherfang and I are bound as one being," she explained. "But such powerful magic could not be accomplished without Zathrian's own blood."

"I thought as much," Morrigan murmured.

"Your people believe you have rediscovered the immortality of their ancestors, Zathrian, but that is not true. So long as the curse exists, so do you,"

The truth laid bare. Leliana fought to control herself. Killing Zathrian now would not help Elissa, or the elves, or the werewolves, though he deserved it-lying to his own people, causing all of this, getting Elissa involved as well as the rest of them.

"No," he shook his head vehemently in defence, "that is not how it is!"

It made sense to Leliana. If the demon bound by Zathrian's blood could sense his true heart, his true nature. She had no reason to lie or deceive them, and so far as Leliana could tell in all their conversation, she had not once done so.

"Would Zathrian's death end the curse?" Morrigan bluntly asked what was on all their minds.

"No," the Lady clarified " The curse has a life of its own, though Zathrian's life depends on it,"

Alistair found relief in the Lady's response. He did not want to fight Zathrian if they did not need to. The man had been through too much already. He would like to avoid a fight, if it was possible.

"His death plays a part in its ending, however," she continued.

Alistair looked over and felt pity for the man. Frustrated, Swiftrunner interjected, "Then we kill him! Tear him apart, now!"

Zathrian's eyes narrowed as he regarded the alpha werewolf with disgust. "For all your powers of speech, you are beasts still. What would you gain from killing me? Only I know how the ritual ends. And I will _never_ do it!"

Hearing these words, Swiftrunner felt betrayed. He snapped. "You see? We must kill them all!"

Zathrian turned to Alistair. "See? They turn on you as quickly. Do what you have you come here to do Grey Warden," he urged on, "Or get out of my way."

Alistair shook his head in defiance. " I don't care, Zathrian," he stated plain, "I won't help you do this." He stood taller in his armor, "We're standing for what's right here, no matter what." It was what Elissa would do.

Zathrian had his limit. "Then you die with them," he sneered, "All of you will suffer as you deserve!"

With those words, he summoned a spell. Blinding white light filled the chamber. The Lady, who had changed into the body of Witherfang, howled. A barrier surrounded all of the werewolves in the room, including she. They were unable to move, and would be of no use.

Leliana pulled her bow off her back and shot an arrow at the first Sylvan to appear out of the mists of Zathrian's spell. Her shot hit true, pinning the animated tree to its spot. Leliana put her bow back over her shoulder and ran forward, knowing she wouldn't have much time. She dodged underneath the arm of the Sylvan as it swiped at her from its stance and circled around to the back. Here, she pulled out her daggers and hacked at it's roots.

Alistair came toward the second Sylvan head-on and was stopped by a thick mesh of brambles as it stuck its branch-arm into the ground and summoned the roots in the soil beneath the stone to grow spontaneously. He struggled to free himself, hacking and slashing at the roots with his sword.

Morrigan stayed well-back. She noticed the incompetent Templar's plight and sighed. A bolt of ice-cold hit the brambles. The Sylvan stumbled back, roaring in pain. Alistair finally broke free of the brambles and rushed the tree. He hacked and swiped at its branchy legs.

Zathrian cast multiple hexes from the far end of the room. Morrigan sweated with exertion, dispelling his hexes as best and as quickly as she could. Leliana's Sylvan went down first and she ran over to help Alistair with his. The tide had turned. Zathrian could not summon another Sylvan, without letting his guard down. Morrigan kept pace with him well enough and if he stopped hexing them, she could pin him down with a spell similar to the one he'd put on the wolves.

The second Sylvan went down with a loud groan. Zathrian switched to offensive spells. He froze Leliana as Alistair caught up to him and shield-bashed him. Morrigan shot her with a gentle blast of ember, quickly melting the ice. Leliana broke free and maneuvered her way around to Zathrian's back. His body shone with light as he reached up into the sky. A pulse-wave shoved them back, stunning Alistair, but not the bard, who had been ready for the tactic, having fought mages many times before. Leliana and Morrigan kept up the pressure until Alistair recovered a few moments later. He joined them in harassing the mage. Zathrian had not fought so hard in centuries. His wizened frame felt the drain far sooner than he had expected. Zathrian fell to his knees, his mana, and his body, finally exhausted.

"No more," he begged, panting. "I cannot defeat you." His spell over the wolves broke, setting them free.

"Finish it, kill him now!" Swiftrunner snarled.

Leliana's heart clenched in fear. She thought the wolves would, after Zathrian's words and actions. As wrong as he was, the bard still felt pity for him…and, it was as Alistair had said earlier, Elissa would not like it. "No, don't kill him!" she shouted. She turned to the Lady, her eyes pleading, "Please, Lady, stop him!" she implored.

The Lady dragged the alpha werewolf back by the arm. "No, Swiftrunner," she instructed, "We will not kill him. If there is no room in our hearts for mercy, how can we expect there to be room in his?" she asked of the wolf to make him see.

Zathrian stood, shaking his head, his eyes filled with something akin to sorrow. "No, I cannot do that. I am too old to know mercy… All I see are the faces of my children, my people… I …cannot…"

Leliana walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. She squeezed it in sympathy for him. "Has this not gone on long enough?" she gently asked.

He looked away from her, his eyes filling with tears. "Perhaps, I have lived too long," he admitted. "This hatred in me is like an ancient, gnarled root…It has consumed my soul." He turned to Lady, directing his next words to her. "What of you, spirit? You are bound to the curse, as I am. Do you not fear your own end?"

She looked upon him with confusion in her eyes. Why should she fear an end? "You are my maker, Zathrian. You gave me form and consciousness where none existed. I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is life." Her head dropped, her voice sunk lower, "Yet of all things, I desire nothing more than an end. I beg you, maker…put an end to me," she looked up, her grey eyes pleading with Zathrian, "We beg you…show mercy."

"You shame me, spirit," Zathrian said. "I am an old man, alive long past his time."

"Then you will end the curse?" the Lady asked, her voice full of doubt and hope.

Zathrian let out a long sigh. "Yes," he finally agreed, "I think it is time, let us put an end to it all,"

The wolves bowed their heads, their demeanor somber in this hour, as they would gain their humanity, but in doing so, they would lose their beloved Lady. Swiftrunner took her hand and the Lady gave his a final squeeze for reassurance. She turned to Zathrian.

The mage struck his staff down on the ground and collapsed, lifeless. The Lady was enveloped in a bright light as she was unmade, released back to the realm of spirits. The wolves themselves were swallowed by the same light, one by one they glowed bright, until their bodies resumed a natural form and the lights ebbed away.

When he could speak again, Swiftrunner thanked them all. Leliana, Morrigan, and Alistair watched as they ran from the ruin, back out into the world they had long been parted from.

"It's finally over for them," Alistair whispered with a feeling of accomplishment. "Perhaps now they can start all over,"

"Speaking of which," Morrigan reminded.

"Right," he agreed, "we should get back to the Dalish, let them know their hahren is …gone,"


	26. Clean Slate

-The Rose's Thorn-

Chapter 26: Clean Slate

The way back to the Dalish camp was a quiet journey, the fiends and any darkspawn in the area having already been taken care of, first by Elissa, and any that had remained, by the three of them. Alistair walked ahead with Leliana, carrying the unconscious Warden on a makeshift stretcher they had assembled out of their supplies and some long, thick branches scrounged from the surrounding wood. He had wanted to simply carry her in his arms, as it would have been easier, but Leliana knew more of medicine than he, and insisted he could make Elissa's injuries worse by moving her that way. Morrigan hung back a littler farther and quieter than usual.

The elves were thankful for their help and Lanaya, as the new Hahren agreed to keep her people to the bonds of the ancient contract. They would have Dalish bows at their side, come the final battle with the Archdemon. It was a good result, as good as could be expected. Still, Alistair wondered, looking over at Elissa where they had set her down for a moment to talk to the elven leader- was it worth it? Was he doing the right thing? Was their battle worth driving the poor woman to madness and suicidal action? He hadn't known her that long, but he took sympathy on her also. Knowing what all she'd been through, who could not?

It was late afternoon by the time they were done making preparations to leave the Dalish camp. Alistair made the decision to stay the night. It would be safer to travel their own separate way come the dawn. The elves offered them help in setting up their tents, after they'd picked an unoccupied spot of earth near to the halla pen.

Dusk settled in over the camp. The Dalish went about their business as if the shemlen weren't even there. They told stories of their ancestry by the large roaring campfire as they cooked, ate, and laughed. Leliana listened intently, she had never heard a story she did not love. Her heart twinged the smallest bit. It was her mother who had bespelled her for tales, so long ago. A slight pang of guilt came and went with it. So long ago, she could not even recall what the woman had looked like. She could only remember red hair, fiery, like her own natural color, down past her shoulders, her laughter- a gentle, lilting sound, smooth like a tender melody- and the smell of those certain flowers she had loved.

Leliana shed a tear, watching the elven families' interactions. It was the first she had shed for her mother in too long a time. The moment passed as quickly as it had come and she wiped at her eyes to clear them of the evidence. She felt a presence beside her and looked up. It was Alistair.

He sat down beside her with a heavy sigh. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but had trouble finding the words. He gave her a weak smile instead. He stared ahead as he spoke. "This is hard on all of us, I think," he said, nodding his head toward Morrigan's private space, where she sat cross-legged on the ground, staring blankly into the small fire she had started.

Leliana took a moment to register the meaning to his words. Elissa. He meant Elissa's condition. Her eyes roved to the tent which housed her unmoving form. The Dalish would have offered her their healing if they could have, and not to say they hadn't tried, but the werewolf ambush had left the tribe's medicinal resources and its healers drained. Some basic field aid and a night's rest was all they could offer the brave Warden who had sought to avenge them alone. Leliana hoped it would be enough.

She nodded, though the Templar did not notice it. Lost in thought, he stared at the fire. After a long while, he raked a hand through his hair and let out a heavy sigh. "I just hope its sooner, rather than later," he murmured, turning his eyes back to the bard. Alistair stared back into the fire. It would be a while before he spoke again.

"She never flinched." he said, so suddenly, that Leliana startled. She had not been expecting him to converse, but she supposed if he was doing so, it was because he needed it. Alistair explained, his voice steady with the reminiscence of memory, "The first time I ever saw an actual darkspawn…I nearly wet my trews. Thank the Maker Duncan was there. I'd have been skewered into to so much meat if he hadn't,"

"I thought when I first met her," he continued, " she was a rich, country girl. Some high-born princess come to play swords with the boys." Alistair shook his head. "I thought Duncan had become paranoid, too desperate for recruits." He paused a long moment, as if haunted by something. His eyes attained a far-away glaze. "She was the only one to survive the Joining that night,"

"I should have known then how strong she is. After the slaughter, she didn't waste a second," he laughed a little here, though it was devoid of mirth. "Morrigan and I were practically running to keep up. Can you imagine?" he asked her, "In all this armor?,"

He nodded to himself and gave Leliana a small smile. "She'll pull through this. Just wait and see," he assured, patting her leg before excusing himself. She might have believed him, had the smile reached his eyes. It hadn't though, and the smile itself had been strained, his features tight with worry.

Leliana looked over her shoulder to the tent where Elissa lay. There was no sign of life or movement in the glow cast from the fire, only the flickering ghost of a shadow which lay there, corpse-still. Leliana recalled the first time she had met the Warden. She was a high-born princess, there to play swords with the boys. A twitch of a smile touched the bard's lips in fond memory. But what was there of her now? The woman she had fallen so hard for, so swiftly, and so long ago? Was there anything left of her? If not, what had changed her? What had made her into the leader over Alistair's seniority in rank among the Wardens? Had she taken it by force?

So many questions swirled about her mind, unanswered, and perhaps some of them unanswerable. What lay inside the tent held those answers…but…Leliana hesitated to enter. That had not been a wise idea the last time. It had nearly killed her. Leliana watched the shadow of Elissa's prone form bounce along the stretched, bleached animal skin of the tent as the campfire ebbed and waned. Her eyes grew heavy as the night deepened and when she could not hold them open much longer, she pulled herself to her feet and stumbled to her own tent to sleep off the questions raging her mind. Perhaps her answers would come in the morrow.

* * *

_A flash, too quick to follow, the glint of steel, and blood. So much blood. She was choking on it, drowning in it. Her blood became the sea and she was swimming in it, being carried away with the tide. She fought the current with all her might, but try as she may, she was continually dragged under. She called out to the Maker for help with every fiber of piety in her being. _

_A hand reached down into the ocean of blood and clasped her about the forearm. She locked her own against it in the same manner. She was pulled up. As she broke the surface, the blood drained away. Relief came in a breath, but it would not last. The same hand that had helped her, shoved a blade up between her ribs. Blood came rushing out of the wound and she started to choke on a warm, wet sensation in her throat. _

_She fell to her knees. Her eyes cast upward. She could not see the face of her attacker for the shadows, but she knew without seeing. Familiar lips twitched up into a deadly grin. _

Leliana bolted out of the Fade, sitting upright in her tent. She clutched at her throat. The wound was still there, though healing well, and she could breathe. Her frantic eyes roved about her surroundings for answers. She was in her tent, alone. The light from outside let her know the dawn was not long off in coming.

She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest and her head resting on her arms where they lay across her knees. The bard took slow, long breaths to calm her racing heart. It had only been a dream, but her dreams had always been so vivid, so very real to her in the exact moment.

Shaking off the dream, she rose to her feet and gathered some fresh underclothes and a clean robe. Early morning grey met her on the exit from her tent. That and not much else. It would seem the Dalish had already moved on, taking all of their belongings with them. The only sign that they had occupied the area previously were piles of fresh halla dung in a loosely circular area where the pen had been, and smoldering ash from dying fires lit the previous night.

No one was about at this hour, not even the dog, which she assumed was in his master's tent, curled up at her side, as when she was well, the bard had noticed, he hardly left it. Her eyes lingered a moment on Elissa's tent. So many questions swirled about her head and heart, she did not know where to begin. There was worry mixed in as well as guilt and fear. The bard did what she knew best and swallowed it down. Best to deal with at another time. The waiting would be the hardest part, she knew, but there was nothing that could be done for that. She had done the best she could. The Dalish had helped all that they could. Now, all that was left was the waiting.

The bard put her feelings aside for the moment and strode to Alistair's tent. She gently called his name, louder each time after the first on having received no response from within. On the third attempt, she was greeted with a groggy, incoherent answer. She called to him a bit more forcefully and finally, he lifted the tent flap, squinting up at her with sleep-tousled hair. "Mnmm?"

"I'm going to wash now, I thought it best that someone stand guard," she said.

"wh? Wash..? N-no! I-" A flush crept into his face as he glanced away.

"Not me, Alistair. I meant guard Elissa,"

"Oh! Right! …Of course, just let me get dressed,"

He shut the flap. There was some minor rustling and moments later he stepped out, fully clothed and wearing a lighter armor set of hardened scale plates mounted to the leather. Leliana left to find the nearest stream.

It was not far from the camp in fact. A few hundred paces through the wood, wound a small brook. The water was a bit colder than she would have appreciated, but it would suit her need in washing away the Warden's blood and all the dirt, grime, and nastier substances from their time in the ruin.

By the time she had returned, freshly bathed and cleanly clothed, Morrigan had made it up and about and had something cooking in a small pan over a fire. Leliana's approach moved her to speak.

"Hare," she said simply, "It shall be ready in another few moments," Morrigan informed her.

"Oh? I did not notice that you had put traps out last night."

"I… did not," Morrigan said.

Leliana stared at her, but the witch offered no other explanation, and she wore a mask that the bard could not decipher. She stared down at the bits of meat searing in the pan. A nudge at her leg brought her attention down to the dog snuffling at her hand.

"Oh, go on, you mongrel!" Morrigan said to shoo the mabari away. "Get out of here, I'm cooking!"

Sabre sat on his rump and cocked his head, he whined at her.

"Leave! Shoo! Get!" she said, waving her hands in a bid to scare him off.

The dog laid down completely and rested his massive head on his forepaws. If it was believable, his lip pouted and his eyes shone with what looked to be tears. Another low whine issued from his pitiful countenance.

Morrigan kept up her stance of folded arms and hard face for a few moments. Then she sighed with defeat. "Oh, alright. Here, just stop looking at me with those _eyes_," she conceded, tossing the hound a piece. Sabre ate it happily, then padded over to where Alistair sat in front of Elissa's tent.

Leliana's lips curled into a smile. Morrigan was much more personable than she seemed to be, or perhaps more so with dogs than with people. The bard grinned as she selected a few choice cuts onto a twig she used for a skewer. "You're a big softie," she teased, "and I never knew you could cook."

"I am not. I simply did not wish to hear his incessant _whining_."

Alistair wandered over and salivated over the contents of the cooking pan. "Oooh, breakfast," he marveled.

Morrigan's eyes cut to him, then back to the bard. "Nor the dog's."

Leliana laughed with her mouth full and covered it with a hand.

"What?" Alistair asked, "What'd I miss?"

The bard collected herself and regained her composure. "Nothing. Not a thing," she said, though the merriment was still evident in her tone.

The rest of their breakfast was eaten in silence. Afterward, the tents were taken down and put away, along with the rest of the supplies. They were just about packed and ready to leave when Morrigan asked,

"Where to now?"

Alistair had been sitting beside his unconscious comrade for the latter half while the women packed up the smaller, lighter things. He had seemed deep in thought, and now stood to face them with determination and newfound assurance in his eyes. Whatever he had been pondering, he had his answer.

"Redcliffe," he said.

It was a logical answer. Though the wood had been cleared of any grave and immediate dangers, the fires and the pull of the taint would attract darkspawn. They could not stay in one place, they needed to keep moving. Especially with Loghain's captain that had led the ambush on them in Lothering likely having reported back to him by now.

"I know the Arl. He's a good man,"

"You think he would help us?"

The Templar nodded. "If he can, he will do his best. I know it," Alistair seemed to glow with pride at this. "Besides," he continued, "he's bound the by treaty, and I've never known the Arl to break his word."

Except for that _one _time. His eyes darkened and he looked away before either of the women noticed. He shoved that feeling deep down. It was in the past. He was a grown man now, not a little boy, and would not allow his personal feelings to interfere with his current mission. At least, that was what he told himself as he moved to pick up the front of the stretcher.

Leliana picked up the other end and Morrigan hitched the horse to the supply wagon and hopped into the driver's seat. The dog followed close behind. The journey ahead would prove arduous for Alistair and Leliana. They decided quickly to strip her of her armor and outer layers of clothing. The weather was mild and she would not need her armor or leathers in her current state anyhow. These they loaded into the back of the supply wagon and carried on after the brief stop.

The rolling hills and thick woods of the Brecilian forest slowly thinned out and gave way to endless golden fields of wheat as they passed through smaller farming communities which eventually grew thicker as they approached civilization. They stopped in the middle of one of those fields, the last town far behind and the nearest one miles away yet.

Leliana made it her duty to care for Elissa. She laid out her bedroll and placed the Warden upon it, then made herself busy in putting up her tent around her while the other two set up camp and got a good fire going. She undressed Elissa down to her smallclothes. When that was done, she took a large bowl and filled it with clean rags. The bard opened her canteen and poured some of the water from it to fill the bowl.

With great care, she washed the Warden free of any traces of blood that still remained, or had leaked. Then she changed Elissa's bandages one by one, saving the ankle wound for last so she could give it more close attention. It was late into the dusk hour when Alistair poked his head through the flap, a warm bowl of soup in his hands which he offered to the bard.

Leliana took it from him and set it aside, not feeling in a mood to eat at the moment.

"How is she?" he asked.

"The same," Leliana answered, her voice dry and on the verge of breaking.

"Will she…?" his voice trailed off, eyes full of uncertainty, searching hers for an answer.

She knew what he was asking. A tightness closed around her throat like a phantom hand severing her airway. "I don't…" she shook her head, choked on the words and the sudden tears that flooded from her eyes. "I don't know," she tried again after a moment, " I've seen some wake from this in hours, minutes." She shrugged helplessly, not even looking at him, her attention solely fixed on the unconscious Warden. "Some not for weeks…months…ye-years."

Her tears came faster now. She could not bring herself to tell him the last of it. In all her years and experience with battle wounds in her life as a bard; this she had seen before, and the truth of it was, there were some who never recovered, their bodies withered away and expired without ever coming out of this endless sleep. A tremendous wave of guilt surged in her and the bard curled in on herself, stifling the sobs that wracked her frame with a hand over her mouth. Alistair made quiet tracks out of the tent to give her some privacy.

Leliana woke an undetermined amount of time later, where she'd apparently fallen asleep on the floor beside Elissa's body. A bowl of cold soup lay undisturbed beside her. Reluctantly, she sat up, grabbed the bowl and pushed to her feet. Her stomach was rumbling and she needed to be away from this. The constant guilt would drive her insane.

The bard exited the Warden's tent. She wandered over to the large pot and the slowly dying fire it was suspended over. She set the bowl down at Sabre's feet where he lay. The dog happily lapped it up. Leliana grabbed a fresh bowl out of the supply wagon and ladled herself another helping. She ate in silence and merely watched on as Alistiar sat muttering to himself, holding his head in his hands, and Morrigan busied herself with checking that her tent was sturdy enough to her liking.

Long after the others had retired for the evening, Morrigan found herself in the Warden's tent, gazing down at the woman where she lay prone. When she grew weary of standing, she sat beside her. That bothersome hound intruded upon her personal space, insisting on a pat on the head, which Morrigan grudgingly gave in to. Time lost a coherent track as she sat there with only her thoughts, and then a curious thing happened. Something stirred beside her.

A pair of golden eyes, liken to those of a wolf, was what her mind first registered. Dark hair spilling about striking features, twisted up into a loose bun, bangs tumbling free in the front. The eyes blinked down at her. "You're awake,"

She nodded, then winced with the pain the action brought. Morrigan could see the agony she was in and asked out of a desire to help ease the Warden's obvious suffering.

"How do you feel?"

"In…pain…" she answered through gritted teeth. A pause. "Not…unbearable," Another pause as she gathered her breath. "but… persistent."

"I will go get you something to eat," Morrigan said and stood to leave. Elissa's strained words stopped her.

"Wait…please…"

There was an urgency lying under the words. Morrigan turned her gaze back to the Grey Warden. Elissa looked up at her with a question burning behind her eyes.

"Who are you?"

Morrigan's eyebrows rose. "I…am Morrigan," she explained, thinking it some unfunny jest.

"Morrigan…" Elissa said slowly, as if saying it for the first time.

Morrigan suddenly had a strange, bad feeling. "Do you not recall?"

Elissa's eyes widened with the dawning knowledge that she , in fact, did not recall. She did not recall 'Morrigan'. She did not recall _anything_. "Who…" she began, her heartbeat picking up speed with the realization,

"Who am _I_?"


	27. Blank

-The Rose's Thorn-

Chapter 27: Blank

"Dark…_spawn_?"

Alistair nodded gravely. "Yes, and we have good reason to believe this is a Blight,"

Elissa took his words in slowly, allowing the gravity of the situation to sink in. From all that she had been told, this was indeed, the worst possible news. The whole of not just the country of Ferelden from which they all hailed, but the entire continent of Thedas faced dire straits, the annihilation of every living creature on the face of it.

Alistair recounted the story of the Grey Warden's betrayal at the Tower of Ishar by the fiend, Loghain, once trusted advisor to the late King. The wheels in Elissa's head turned as he spoke. The man was a political quandary, a great hero to the people of Ferelden, there were many who supported him. Alistair also told her of the run-in with Loghain's men at Lothering, where they'd first met the lay sister of the Chantry in their travels. He voiced his concerns over Loghain's ulterior motives in manipulating the people's opinion of the two surviving Wardens, a conclusion Elissa had already drawn even before he'd spoken it aloud.

Morrigan told her of what had happened after the events in the tower, how her mother, Flemeth had rescued her and Alistair and brought them to her hut in the middle of the Korcari Wilds. From there, she'd insisted they take Morrigan with them on their travels. She also told her of how they had all met a short while before this, over the Grey Warden treaties that had been stashed away in a cache in an ancient ruin which was now reduced to rubble through the sands of time.

The other one did not say anything. She merely stood by and watched Elissa intently and with a bit of a forlorn look. Elissa supposed it was kind and decent of the woman to feel sorry for her, but she did not need pity right now. She needed to know what to do. She was the leader of their little group, and did not remember anything of it.

Having spoken to Alistair and Morrigan most of the morning, she learned who she was, what her _name_ was, where she had come from, though the essence of self had yet to return to her, none of the names or places, nor even the Mabari at her heels seemed familiar. She learned of the elves, their treaty, and the injury that had rendered her thus. Having no knowledge of the course of events, she deferred to Alistair's reasoning. They would next journey to Redcliffe to see this Arl Eamon who had earned his most sincere trust.

She hung back as Alistair and Morrigan led the horse, -_her_ horse, the white stallion she'd named Lightning- talking lightly between themselves, what sounded like gentle banter. She tried, strained, to remember the horse, or the stables she'd surely kept him in. Anything. Sharp pain seized her head and she grasped hold of it, a small, pained grunt escaping her lips.

"Are you hurt?" A soft, concerned accent carried to her from the light touch of a hand on her shoulder. "Do you need to stop and rest for a moment?" she asked, dark-colored eyes filled with genuine concern. The other woman, the one who hadn't spoken much to her since she'd woken from her coma, what was her name? Ah, yes, the others had called her _Leliana_.

"No. Tis nothing, merely a small headache. It shall pass." Elissa assured the woman.

Leliana nodded, "Alright," and kept walking. Her mind raced. Elissa gazed too often ahead at the others and for too long, her eyes lingering on Morrigan's form as her hips swayed side to side. The bard's hands balled into fists at her sides and trembled with contained emotion. How could such a thing happen? It was not fair. Morrigan had not the slightest interest in her.

It would be a while yet before either of them spoke again. Elissa used the time and the quiet to take in her surroundings. Endless expanse of golden fields, flat land. None of it seemed to be familiar to her, not one small bit. Though from what Morrigan had explained to her about the injury she had suffered, this could well be her homeland and she would not know it from a hole in the ground.

Elissa walked on in silence, keeping to herself the strange sensation of not knowing any of these people, who apparently knew her and regarded her in high esteem. The young man, Alistair, was ever polite to her, though he quipped quite snippily with Morrigan at times. Although, at times, Morrigan seemed to delight in tormenting him with any opportunity that presented itself.

"Are they married?" Elissa spoke aloud what she had been thinking, something that seemed natural to her, at least she thought so.

"I'm sorry?" Leliana seemed to come out of deep thought herself. She glanced over to Elissa, silently asking her to repeat the question.

"Alistair and Morrigan. Are they married?"

Something changed in Leliana's gaze. Her eyes hardened around the edges. "Why do you ask?" her tone had gone flat, all of the music bereft from it. "Do you fancy someone like her?" she cast her eyes to the ground, her shoulders slumped just so.

"I was just curious. It would seem they are. I meant no offense by it," Elissa apologized, bewildered by what could have so upset the other woman.

_There's more than one way to play this game_, Leliana thought to herself. So be it. She would have to show Elissa in all the ways she knew how, that there was only one woman she wanted, and that woman was she.

Elissa's eyes lingered on the dark-haired woman. She no longer seemed upset, but Leliana was a certain mystery. Pious, and at times, almost childlike in her zest for life. She giggled, the sound filling Elissa's ears and resonating on the air with a sweet, melodic symphony. She skipped ahead through the fields.

Elissa jogged to catch up with her. "What are you doing?" she asked, curious.

"Skipping," the dark-haired woman replied. She grasped Elissa's hand and tugged her along. "Come, join me!"

Elissa yelped as she was dragged forward. She ran to keep pace, but refused to skip. Tall stalks of wheat parted at their intrusion, seed falling to the ground, chaff taking to the winds. Leliana tripped, or so it had seemed. She fell into a mound of drying stalks. Elissa caught herself on her hands and knees, directly above her. Both panted, out of breath from the exertion.

"Are you injured?" Elissa asked, still hovering over Leliana.

Leliana paused a moment, as if taking a mental check of everything. "I do not think so." She giggled again, the sound delightful to Elissa's ears. "Wasn't that fun?"

The Warden met her with confusion, though Elissa smiled despite herself, lips quirking at the edges. "How can you think of fun at a time like this?" she admonished with no true force behind the chastising.

Leliana's look grew serious. "We must take the moments we can, as they come to us. We may not have them again." Her eyes softened as she gazed up at the Warden.

Elissa suddenly found herself be-spelled. It may have been the way the afternoon sun struck her features, lightning them aglow and setting her dark hair to shine, or the sincerity of her words which rung so true to Elissa in that moment. _We must take moments as they come, we may not have them again._ Facing what they were up against, Elissa felt no truer words had been spoken. She lingered a moment longer before her better judgment caught up to her.

"We should catch up to the others," she stated, not attempting to move yet, merely gazing into Leliana's eyes.

"Can't they wait a while longer?" Leliana asked, boldly reaching up to tuck a lock of bangs behind Elissa's ear.

Elissa wanted to. _Maker_ did she want to stay here in this moment, gazing down at the beautiful Chantry Sister. Chantry. Sister. There was something wrong about that. Elissa couldn't recall what it meant, but she had a certain feeling that perhaps she should not feel the way she did for the woman. Being a woman of the cloth, Elissa suspected that her feelings for the woman might not be permissible by Chantry Law. She shook her head and moved to get up. "They will wonder where we are,"

Leliana gave it one last shot. "Let them wonder,"

"I…" Elissa appeared lost. She struggled for an answer to the bard's proposition. "I can't," she said simply, and pushed herself to her feet. She offered a hand up to the bard and though Leliana took advantage of it, she kept her gaze away, not able to meet the Warden's eyes for the disappointment in her own. She had been so close, had she truly made such a fool of herself?

The Warden had not moved from her semi-crouched position. Leliana could see the tension in her features. Her eyes seemed far-off. "Is something wrong?"

Elissa's heart thudded heavily in her ears. Something was wrong. A sick, twisting vileness perverted her senses, gnawing at her gut, numbing her mind with a force so powerful it threatened to devour her whole. Distantly, she heard the other woman speak as she strained to listen from whence the threat came.

"Quiet," she said, moving to shove Leliana behind her as she drew her sword from its scabbard, "Something comes,"

The sound of metal clearing leather rang sharply, twice, as Leliana drew her daggers.

"There!" Elissa shouted, sensing movement off to her left, deep in the fields of swaying wheat. She glanced ahead to where the others had been walking.

"Darkspawn!" Alistair had sensed them also. He and Morrigan ran to meet up with them.

The first wave of twisted creatures swarmed at them, coming from all sides, trying to surround them. Elissa's heart pounded heavily with dread, the foul creatures' rotting faces resembling something from the very worst of night terrors. Leliana took to dispatching the smaller ones as if it was her second nature. One of the larger ones approached Elissa, growling and hissing as it banged its fist against its chest, nothing but rage and blood-lust in its eyes.

She met the creature with a swipe of her blade. The darkspawn parried with its own sword, the clash of metal ringing loud in her ears. The creature pressed her with each block it made, its strength a significant match to hers. Off to her right field of vision, Alistair kept another human-sized one at bay, while Morrigan safely fired off arcane spells from a short distance away.

Leliana shouted out, a pained cry. Elissa's eyes flicked to her momentarily. One of the darkspawn had rounded to her back and cut a gash across her flank. Crimson blood stained her robe. Elissa quickly finished off the large spawn. She ran to the Sister's side and made short work of the remaining creatures, her blade arm flowing like water, stabbing one through the heart, cleaving the skull of another, slicing the head clean off a third and finally gutting the fourth to spill its entrails on the ground.

"Thank you."

Elissa barely heard it over the harsh sound of her breaths. She stared down at the mess of corpses at her feet, then at the blade in her hands. How in the Maker's world had she done that so easily? Her grip tightened on the hilt of the blade. It had felt so natural to her. She had not even needed to think, instinct taking over her senses in the moment she felt the Sister had been in true danger. The sounds of fighting ceased as Alistair finally brought down the one he had engaged.

Elissa looked over at the Sister. "Are you hurt?"

Leliana carefully examined her calf, winced when she felt of it, put her weight on the leg and winced only just so. "It is superficial. I was lucky, I suppose," she admitted, then as a weight of gratitude filled her eyes, added, "Thank you," her hand finding its way to rest on Elissa's shoulder.

The Warden shook her head, sincerity filling her gaze. "Think naught of it,"

The moment was broken as the others caught up to them. Alistair seemed to assess them with his gaze. "Are you two alright?"

Elissa nodded, "No worse for the wear,"

Alistair returned the nod, "Good, then lets get a move on. I wouldn't want to be around here at night,"

He had a point. Elissa had sensed the creeping darkness at the edges of her consciousness, the threat of the creatures seemed to grow with the approach of night. The pull of the evil that defined the darkspawn to her senses gathered more form and substance with the waning of the of light.

Her eyes drifted back to Leliana who walked close beside her. How much danger had they been in playing around like they had a short while ago? Did she even know? Had she sensed it? Elissa quickly dismissed the thought, remembering what Alistair had said about the Grey Wardens being the only ones able to sense the darkspawn. Even so, it was a foolish thing.

This Blight was a serious matter, she could see that now. There was no time for fun and games. Not when something so simple as giving in could cost them their lives. Elissa stared harder at the Sister. How had she managed to convince her to drop her guard so easily? She decided to keep a close eye on her. There was something about the other woman that made her so…pliable to her whimsy. Elissa wanted to know what it was.

Her eyes kept glancing to the woman in question over the remainder of the day's travel. Leliana might have sensed it. If she had, however, she chose to keep quiet about it. Elissa's curiosity won out. "What are you?" her words came out blunt.

They stopped Leliana in her tracks, a look of …some unnamable emotion flit across her features for only a moment. "I-I'm sorry?" she asked, seemingly surprised by the question.

Elissa chose her words carefully. "You are…not like the others," she explained. Leliana's brows arched.

"We are all different as human beings, no?" she retorted with simple rhetoric.

Elissa shook her head. "Alistair laughs. I've seen Morrigan crack a smile now and again. But you…" Elissa shrugged, unsure of how to describe the Sister's antics. "…you skip," she finished plainly.

To this, Leliana laughed, that sweet, melodic symphony of a sound seeming to Elissa to linger in the air like the gentle tune of a lute. "I have told you before if you recall, I take the small moments where I can," her voice changed, dropping a tone lower, sounding a bit sad, "I've learned if I don't, I may not see them again,"

Elissa's heart clenched for the other woman. She seemed so sad and downtrodden in that moment, though was quick to cover it with a simple jest, and then seemed to move on, talking idly about nothing important while they walked.

Alistair stopped a short while later, when the sense of the evil was far off on the edges of Elissa's consciousness. "We'll camp here," he announced, "It's hours yet to Lothering, but we should make it by mid-morning. We can re-stock our supplies there before we set out for Redcliffe."

It was a sound plan, Elissa thought. She found she could easily respect the young man, and the tough decisions he had to make in her absence of mind, knowing the burden she shared was half his as well. Morrigan started supper as it seemed to be her usual task. Elissa helped Alistair set up the tents and unpack the horse while Leliana got a fire going.

It was some time later. Supper had been eaten, meat from a wild fowl and some native vegetation from the surrounding area. Elissa found herself in a strange predicament. She found the simple meal delicious, though she had no frame of reference to compare it with. She silently wondered how that could be.

The others attended some minor tasks, Alistair sharpening his blade and checking his equipment, and Morrigan seeming to go over some archaic book of spells.

She sensed, rather than saw, the Sister's approach. "You seem rather quiet tonight,"

Elissa tried to think of answer to that, how to voice her thoughts. Something had been plaguing her mind all throughout the day, and as she sat there, with nothing else to do, the thought came to her again and again, unbidden, replaying endlessly in her mind.

"Though I suppose it suits you, the tall, handsome, quiet type, no?" Leliana sat down beside her.

Elissa turned to her, not having quite noticed the compliment. "I keep seeing someone,"

The Sister's brow rose, "Oh?"

"An elf. Male, about my age. Hair dark, like yours. Eyes a few shades lighter," she paused, gathering her thoughts. "He's saying he's going off to join the Dalish." _Dalish_. Ever since Alistair had mentioned them, that one word kept repeating in her mind, bringing up the image of the mysterious young man. "I feel like I know him, like we're very close," Another pause, dread filling her heart as it seemed to every time with the fading memory. "Then…I don't know…I feel something bad may have happened, but… I don't remember,"

"Would you like to hear about the Dalish? I know many stories and songs about them. Perhaps hearing some of them will trigger your memories," Leliana offered, eager to indulge someone in a tale, a passion she had always had and dearly loved.

Elissa cocked her head to the side, "You sing?"

Leliana laughed, "Of course…. Though, not quite so well at the moment. Perhaps another time. Would you like to hear a story instead for the time being?"

"If you think it would help," Elissa conceded.

"Alright," Leliana nodded, "first let me tell you the tale of how the Dalish were named."

Elissa listened intently.

"It begins with …" Leliana began.


	28. Nude Women

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch. 28: Nude Women

_Blood. Floods of it, washing down a cobble-lined pathway, it flows, a babbling stream at her feet. She cautiously steps aside, but it is ultimately of no avail, her boots soak in it, up to her ankles, and yet more continues to flow around her. This place is familiar, the threat seeming all the more urgent. _

_Fires rage in the distance. Smell of burnt flesh. Screams of the dying. Heart pounding, stricken with grief. It's nearly unbearable, crushing in its totality. She can scarcely breathe, let alone drag her steps any farther. She rounds a corner. There's a body lying in the path, swallowed up and floating in the flow of blood. _

_The corpse is bloated, rotting. Empty sockets where the eyes once were, flesh a cold, dead grey. The body floats by and touches her leg. She jumps back, suddenly very ill. She drops to her knees and hands, the river of blood coating over her body where it touches. The smell is closer here, metal on her tongue, filling her nostrils with the heavy scent of death. She loses it. Shaking with the violent retches. Sweat coats her pores all over. She's finally empty. Weak, she forces herself to stand and staggers on through the dead, decaying city._

_An earth-shattering screech cuts through the air. She glances up to see the beast before her, a king of dragons, borne out of the darkest depths of purest evil, its eyes backlit with dark smoke, red pupils. The scales on its hide gleam in the light of the waxing moon and the glow of dying embers. It shrieks again and the world trembles at its feet. Even she is brought to her knees once more._

_The beast is speaking in her mind. Threatening with evil intent, and she knows it is the beast of legend, the dark creature that leads the 'spawn to overtake the world. The words are gibberish, nothing coherent. The static in her mind pauses for a short moment. Then, it laughs at her, most satisfactorily amused. _

_Its got her in its teeth, crushing strength pushing her lungs shut, ribs bruising, cracking. She's flung aside, hits something. It all becomes blurry from there. The beast looms above her, dead-shot eyes and drooling, bloody teeth. Its foot comes down, crushing her against stone. With all of her might, she tries to hold that foot, push it away from her, to put off her imminent end. She cannot die like this, not when so many others depend upon her. _

_She summons a great strength of will and from this deep well of fortitude, a great strength she had not known. She thrusts the dragon's foot from her, rights herself and draws her sword one-handed. The sword feels at home in her grasp. She glances down to the hilt and notices a tiny bit of intricate heraldry: twin shafts of wheat engraved into the pommel, spiraling and twining around each other to the hand-guard. It feels important. She knows this symbol, but not what it means. _

_The creature hesitates. It can feel something foreign in her that is not truly foreign. A thing that is trying to return to her. She feels it also, feels the beast falter. She closes and strikes. The dragon shrieks a high-pitched noise. Thunder breaks open the heavens. Lightning streaks against the sky. In the flashes between light and dark, the shriek changes to a scream, the body of the beast morphs into a woman. _

_Something warm trickles down her arm. She glances to it. Red flows thick, soaking her shirt sleeve down to the elbow. The excess drips onto the ground. She raises her gaze back to where the blood originates. The sword in her hand has morphed into a short dagger. It is stuck in the woman's throat. _

_Recognition is a hard slap in the face. She knows this woman. The short-bobbed dark hair, eyes the same shade, full lips pouting at her in shock and disbelief. Horrified, she jerks her hand back. The blade comes free, but at the cost of blood. It flows freely from the wound. The woman collapses backward onto the ground, eyes rolling back in her head._

_The dagger drops to the ground with a resounding clash of metal on stone. She drops to her knees, grief-struck. She cradles the woman in her lap and curls over the body. This is too much to bear. Her heart is breaking. Someone is crying and only just before this terror ends, she realizes it is her. _

* * *

Across the way, Leliana lay awake in her tent. She tossed onto her side and heaved a weary sigh. She closed her eyes and tried to drift into the dream-realm. Though her eyes grew heavy with the passing moments, and though she desperately wanted to fall into the Fade, piteous sounds of fitful moans kept her from finding that peace.

Pity tugged at the heart, but caution swayed her mind. She would not go to the Warden. It was a difficult decision, with Elissa's dream-terror whimpers pulling constantly at the bard's conscience. She turned to her other side and pulled her pillow over her ears. It did little to drown out the sounds of the Warden's suffering.

Leliana tossed flat onto her back and counted halla. She counted ten, only to groan with frustration. It was not working. She contemplated the heavens, the Fade, and the Maker's Golden City. She contemplated life, the direction of her own, death, all the many wonders the human mind could. She would contemplate a great many things before sleep finally took her.

* * *

Elissa woke with a start, the feeling of grief so fresh from the nightmare, that her heart physically ached with it. It took untold moments of staring up at the top of her tent to realize where she truly was. The mabari that traveled with them woke, probably due to her own upset, and nuzzled down beside her with a gruff. She absently pet between his soft ears, gathering her bearings.

She last recalled staying up to hear Leliana's stories. The night grew colder, and though she fought to hear the rest, her eyes grew heavier. They had parted ways and she had walked back to her tent. Was that last night? The terror of the dream had confused her internal clock. And what of the dream itself? Was the Sister okay? She bore a wound similar to what Elissa had dreamt. The placement of it was too uncanny to be mere coincidence.

The dawn's sun beamed bright through the canvas of the tent, the heat of the morning seeping through with it. It was hot, unbearably so. Her clothes stuck to her body, she was slicked with perspiration. She could lay there no longer. Heaving a sigh borne of confusions she had no answers for, Elissa pushed herself from her bedroll to begin the day. She gathered a fresh change of clothing and headed for a nearby stream to do her washing.

She was apparently not the only one with such a mind. "Oh, uh,…excuse me," she murmured upon stumbling onto the sight of a nude behind. The body was shapely, feminine, though taut with the lean sinew of clear training flowing beneath the skin. It was Leliana, the Chantry Sister. Elissa recognized her from the short style of her hair.

Elissa's raising took over and she glanced away as quickly as the bare bottom presented itself, though the image plagued her mind. She had seen enough in that split moment to wonder why there were marks - _scars_ , whip-scars it looked like- all over the back, criss-crossing, overlayed each upon the other, one going from the tip of her left shoulder, crossing the spine and over, reaching fully around to wrap around the bone of her hip and out of sight.

Leliana glanced over a pale shoulder at the intrusion, her cheeks aflame with sudden embarrassment. The Warden could not blame her prudence, she was chaste after all, but Elissa could do little to apologize for it. She could not even properly look her in the eye, for when she raised her eyes to try, she only caught a glimpse of the front.

Elissa felt her whole face burn with the unspoken, shameful attraction she felt for the Sister, eyes concentrating instead on the blades of grass at her feet. She heard a giggle, though it was far different in nature than those she had from the woman before. She was quite surprised indeed to hear such a suggestive sound from a woman of the cloth. A loud splash followed. She waited a few moments more before raising her eyes.

"Come." Leliana waved to her, pulling her arm back toward herself, "The water is so _cool_," she coaxed. "I think it is fed by a mountain stream," she said upon ducking under to wet her hair and returning to the surface.

Elissa slowly climbed into the icy water, welcoming the feel of it as it enveloped her body. She was in up her shoulders when a good-sized wave crashed into her face, sending her to immediate shivers with the cold shock she was not ready for.

Leliana smiled back at her, eyes innocent, but a mischievous smirk playing the corners of her mouth. "Oh dear!," she cried in mock concern, "Watch out for those giant sea-creatures,"

A few moments passed before the Warden would respond, a smile growing on her face. "I think I see one now."

Leliana swam for it. Elissa gave chase a few paces behind her. The bard laughed out over a shoulder, "You'll never catch me!" though she squealed when she saw how close the Warden was and broke into a faster stroke.

Try as she might to evade, the Warden had a much longer reach and eventually won out. An arm wrapped around Leliana, trapping the woman around the waist. Elissa pulled Leliana to her body and used her other arm to trap the woman's arms at her sides. "I've caught you," she said, voice full of triumphant mirth.

Leliana shivered at the warm breath against her ear. "I see that you have," she stated, distracted at the feel of Elissa's breasts nude against her shoulder blades. The Warden had a good hold of her. She tested the hold, wriggling to break free, but Elissa's grip only tightened until she stopped struggling. Leliana's breaths came faster. A certain heat began to gather south of her navel. "I…surrender," she breathed in a rushed murmur.

Elissa held Leliana against her, unable or unwilling to let go. Leliana relaxed into the hold, melting back into the Warden's strong arms. They were quiet for long moments until Elissa whispered, "What is this? What are we doing?"

Leliana grasped hold of the arms around her waist and clasped Elissa's hands in her own. "Shhhh," she admonished, "You'll spoil it." She reveled in the feel of being held in the Warden's embrace.

Elissa's hold relaxed, her arms dropping back down to her sides. Leliana turned to face her. A familiar and not unwelcome emotion flit across the other woman's face. Lust. Raw in its sincerity, Elissa could not hide the feeling quick enough to escape Leliana's notice.

The bard pressed herself into the Warden, closing the short gap between them. Her lips touched briefly onto Elissa's before the other woman could respond. The Warden backed away, obvious confusion creasing her brow. "What of your vows?" she asked, her voice a husky whisper.

Leliana grinned sly. "I have not taken vows," she explained. At her words, Elissa's eyes filled with lust once more.

"You have not?" she asked for confirmation as she slowly leaned back in toward Leliana.

The smile on the bard's face grew wider. "I have not," she confirmed, edging toward the Warden.

Elissa's eyes fluttered closed, as did Leliana's in the final moment before their lips brushed, tentative at first, then growing bolder with each touch. Leliana grasped the back of Elissa's head, fingers twining in her close-cut hair. The Warden shivered when nails scraped at her scalp, a low growl rumbled from her chest. She moved Leliana to the bank and pressed her to the wall of the spring, trapping her there with her arms at either side. She deepened the kiss by force. Leliana moaned and willingly gave access, opening herself to the intrusion. She allowed herself to be invaded by Elissa's tongue, caressed by her lips.

Matters soon escalated when the Warden broke from her lips to tease and toy with her ear and the skin of her neck just below it. Leliana quaked with her desire for this woman. She was able only just enough to pull back from the relentless assault of kisses, her mind a tattered jumble of incoherent thoughts and wanton craving. She breathed hard, panting with the need for air as the Warden also displayed the same requisite.

"Elissa…" Leliana said quietly. She brought a hand up out of the water to caress the side of the Warden's tattooed cheek, a mark that had been added only just recently, the ink bright and fresh against her complexion. A look of confusion crossed over the Warden's face. Leliana shook her head faintly. "There is so much I wish I could tell you…So much I wish I could ask,"

Elissa caught hold of her hand and held it in her own, eyes boring into the bard's. "Say it," she asked, the look in her eyes pleading, wanting to be filled with the knowledge. Leliana knew the origin of that desire, and could only retreat from those eyes.

"It is not so simple," she explained, gazing down at the water. "There are…complications that have arisen,"

The loud clearing of a feminine throat caught their attention away from the questions each had. They looked back to find their companion standing naked at the edge of the opposite bank. A look of smug amusement flit across her features.

"Might I have my own bath now? That is, _if _you two have finished sullying the waters?"

"M-Morrigan!," Elissa exclaimed, her face flushing as she stared at the nude woman who stood on the bank, hip cocked and one hand resting there. The image seemed to burn into her brain, searing its memory as hazel eyes traveled up subtle curves. When they met gold, a curious dark brow arched, finely toned arms crossing under to support the generous, pale bosom.

"Is it common behavior to stare overlong at someone? Or have you forgotten what a nude woman looks like, Warden? I am curious. Have I not the same body you have? What is there to stare at? Or do you prefer the way I look?" This last sentence was accentuated with a half-turn to the side, where Morrigan posed, showing her profile, her back arched slightly, and her arms over her head.

Elissa stood slack-jawed, eyes blinking rapidly, her mind struggling to figure out what was happening. The sound of water being disturbed beside her alerted the Warden to Leliana's departure from the stream. Her eyes darted back to the other woman. Leliana threw a quick, annoyed look at Morrigan, then glanced over her shoulder at Elissa.

"You coming?"

She did not have to ask twice. Elissa followed her out of the stream to where their clothing lay in two neat piles on the ground. Once they were dressed, Leliana stormed off so quick it was hard for Elissa to keep up with her.

* * *

Alistair was right. They made Lothering by mid-day. The sight of the small town brought Leliana a sense of comfort. It settled her to know that things were just as they had been when she had left with the Wardens and Morrigan. It had not been too long ago, though it now seemed to her as though ages had come and gone since then.

It was not as she would have liked to see Lothering, families huddled together for warmth, friends and strangers alike milling about aimlessly, refugees desperately seeking some sort of asylum from the Blight which would ultimately not be found here. In her mind, she would always prefer the town the way she had known it for the past two years, a peaceful farming community, friendly and welcoming to strangers and passers-through.

Now, a dark shroud hung over the town, even in the light of day. A sense of doom and dread permeated the atmosphere, making every moment seem hastened and urgent. It felt as if something steadily approached, that time here was limited.

Even so, it took most of the day to gather enough supplies to make the trip to Redcliffe a safe journey. Haggling was not one of Alistair's stronger points, nor was trade for profit. Leliana finally took over most of the transacting, having had enough of losing their coin to overzealous, greedy merchants. She showed the templar how it was done, and afterwards he thanked her profusely.

It took them another while to find enough space to sleep. The inn was overcrowded as it was, and there was no room at the Chantry either. They had only enough space for two tents, one for Alistair and the mabari, one for the women.

Elissa, of course, did not see a problem with the situation. She left to untie the horse from his hitch to let him graze on the sparse grasses that grew wild about area. Leliana burned with jealous rage, recalling Morrigan's behavior earlier that morning. As if to fuel her anger, Morrigan began to strip down once they were settling for bed.

"What are you doing?" Leliana demanded.

Morrigan paused, thumbs hooked into the waist of her smallclothes still poised at her hips, the final article of clothing covering any part of her bare body. She glanced up at the angry woman. "I am making ready for bed. What does it look like?"

This ensued a hot argument over the arrangement of the bedrolls until Leliana was satisfied with the regrouping of them. It was crowded enough in the tiny space, and having Morrigan at her back was not something the bard would call comfortable, but it was better than having the _harlot_ anywhere near Elissa.

Speaking of, the woman entered the tent quietly. Leliana watched her undress to her smallclothes and chest wrap and climb into the empty bedroll beside her. After a moment, she must have sensed the bard was still awake, for she turned on her side and regarded her. She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on Leliana's cheek and whispered, "Good night," before rolling over onto her other side.

Leliana stared at Elissa's back, nude save for the strip of cloth across the middle. Her heart pounded heavily in her ears as it had earlier that morning in the stream. The feel of the other woman holding her ghosted back over her arms, across her waist. The caress of her lips lingered, brought forth in remembrance of the moment. The cold, sharp press of muddy rocks against her back as Elissa forced her to the bank and stole a deeper kiss.

Her own willingness, through all of it, that terrible, wonderful feeling of utter surrender. It was so different than anything else she had experienced to compare with. There was no sense of urgency as when she would do a mark. Nonexistent was the underlying element of threat as there had always been with Marjolaine. There was only the feeling itself, of wanting to give her all to the Warden, so completely, wholly. She could lose herself in that feeling, and that was something she had not felt, ever.

She watched on, enthralled, as the Warden's breaths deepened and the pattern slowed to a crawl. Would this woman ever know how much she meant to her?. A tear slipped silently from her eye to splash onto her pillow. She thanked the Maker for every single moment she had with her, even if Elissa would never remember her. She leaned over and kissed her bare shoulder. "Good night," she whispered back.


	29. Revelation

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch. 29: Revelation

To say that Alistair thought it was a bad idea, would be putting it lightly. He thought it was a _very, very_ bad idea, akin to suicide. His skin crawled. Icky, squirmy little goosebumps ran up and down his arms, his spine, the back of his head just below the hairline. His eyes flicked over to the man. Such an empty expression on his face, in his eyes. It chilled Alistair to his core, he had never seen such a look in any man's eyes.

He pulled Elissa to one side, where the others would not hear. She glanced at him with curiosity. "Um, I don't mean to be rude," he started out, "but… don't you think we've enough problems of our own?"

Elissa shrugged off his concerns. She gazed over at the man in the cage. He was sturdily built, but it was not that. There was something else that drew her to want to include him. There was something about him that seemed to scream: _warrior_. She turned back to Alistair. "He may prove useful to us."

Alistair wanted to slap his forehead. "How?" he asked, "by killing us? You heard what Leliana said. He's accused of murdering a whole family, even the children!"

Elissa regarded Alistair, replaying the evidence given, the excuse for the man's imprisonment, in her mind. She shook her head. "I have heard nothing to _prove_ this man's alleged crimes," she stated, "only circumstantial evidence that places him at the scene at the time of his arrest,"

This time, Alistair did slap his forehead. He could appreciate Elissa's keen sense of rationale, of logic, however, it now proved to be working against him.

Both Leliana and Morrigan agreed about the unusually harsh nature of the man's punishment. Admittedly, even in the worst of cases, there was always the concern of one's humanity. The templar had known a few mages that had been put to death by his fellows of the Circle, only for the security of the general populace, of course. Alistair tried to reason with them all but Elissa insisted, especially when Morrigan threw in her own two coppers, "This is a proud and powerful creature, left as prey for the darkspawn. If you cannot find a use for him, I would suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone."

Alistair groaned to himself. "Mercy? I wouldn't have expected that from you," he sneered.

Morrigan sniped back, "I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage."

"Yes! That's what I would have expected," Alistair muttered.

How much more crazy were they trying to accumulate? The man was accused of murdering an entire family, having been found near the gruesome mess of carcasses, covered in their blood. He deserved his fate. Maker, even the man himself had admitted as much. Their group already consisted of an apostate mage, a spy with a screw or two loose (in his opinion) posing as a Chantry sister, and not to mention Elissa herself, who couldn't recall anything about her own life. Now they were trying to add a convicted mass murderer to the group? He could feel his head start to pound with the beginnings of what promised to become a massive headache.

Elissa insisted though, and since he was hardly the arguing type, Alistair finally relented and let her take the lead. Her line of reasoning was simple. Amnesia. The man claimed to have not known exactly how he wound up in the middle of the field covered in blood and surrounded by dead people. Perhaps she was sympathizing with the man, who seemed to at least show some remorse for the actions he had supposedly committed. He seemed willing enough to pay out his atonement in surrender and jailing. Given the lack of evidence, other than circumstance, she could hardly judge the man for his alleged crimes.

Leliana even found his punishment beyond cruelty. "To be left here to starve, or to be taken by the darkspawn. No one deserves that. Not even a murderer." She suggested they speak to the Revered Mother in the Chantry. She would most likely hold the key to the cage. As they approached the large building in the center of town, Morrigan stayed back , giving some excuse of templars ambushing them if she came along.

A templar greeted them at the doors and stood aside as they entered. They stepped aside countless refugees as they made their way down the main hall, the Chantry was full to the brim with them. Off to one side of the hall, Alistair recognized one of the men, or rather, recognized the distinct color pattern of his armor.

"Sir..Donall? Is that you?"

The man turned round and squinted at them. "Alistair? By the Maker! I…thought you were dead," he relayed.

Alistair's features darkened, "Not quite, no thanks to Loghain,"

Donall sighed. "If Arl Eamon were well, he'd set Loghain straight soon enough."

Alistair frowned. He didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean, "if Arl Eamon was well"?

Donall looked away, unable to face the intensity of Alistair's questioning gaze. Arl Eamon was uncle to the late king. He had raised Alistair as his own son. There were rumors floating around in the dark shadows that no one dared speak of in the light of day. The uncanny resemblance Alistair held to the late king, and to his father, the king before him…would make the Arl also his own uncle, if the rumors were to be believed. Did Alistair know? How could he not. Donall took a breath before revealing the true nature of the Arl's condition.

"The Arl is stricken with an illness that threatens his life. We have been unable to find a cure, either natural or magical."

"When did this happen?" Alistair asked.

"Only a few weeks ago, but he has declined quickly. No one knows the nature of his illness, and even magic has done little to slow its progress."

Donall sighed. "Our only hope now is a miracle. Every knight of Redcliffe has gone in search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Andraste's ashes are said to cure any illness, but I fear we are chasing a fable. With each day, my hope dims."

Alistair took the information in quietly. No one knew his secret, the bastard that he was, the uncle who raised him, and who, at the behest of his new wife, had sent him away to the monastery at the tender age of ten. There had long resided a bitter hole in his heart where the Arl's face once lived, but now, knowing he could die, Alistair only felt sad.

"Tell me more about this Urn of Sacred Ashes," Elissa inquired, curious, and knowing that Redcliffe was one of the Grey Warden treaties, the Arl bound to help the Wardens during a Blight.

"Supposedly, the Urn contains the ashes of the prophetess, Andraste. Surely you know all this?"

"Perhaps I could help you?" Elissa offered.

Donall shook his head. "Nothing I have found has given me reason to believe that this was anything more than a quest of desperation. I intend to return to Redcliffe soon and tell the arlessa exactly that, once Ser Henric arrives."

_Henric? Why does that sound familiar?_ Elissa thought, even as she reached into her pocket and produced a necklace along with a short note they had found on the body of a templar weeks ago their first time through the town.

"Maker's mercy," Donall sighed wearily. "Thank you for giving me these. I would never have known otherwise."

Alistair bid his friend a final farewell before they continued on down the main hall of the Chantry. The news had him somewhat still reeling. The Arl, his uncle, possibly on his deathbed. It shocked him to his core. Eamon had always been a spry, youthful man, even at his age. Alistair walked a little behind the others, on rubbery legs, his body feeling quite numb all over.

They found the Revered mother in a small niche off to one side of the main hall. She sat in a simple chair with a regal air about her in the manner of her perfect posture. The older woman turned toward them as they entered. The templar at her side, tensed, a hand going to the hilt of his blade at his hip. The Revered Mother stayed this motion with a hand held out toward him.

"Greetings Sister Leliana. I am surprised to see you're still in Lothering."

"It is good to see you as well, Your Reverence," Leliana replied truthfully. She had half-expected the town to have been swallowed by the Blight before their return.

"I do not recognize your companion," the Revered Mother noted. She turned then to Elissa. "Greetings. Will you be making a donation to the Chantry? Our need has never been greater."

Elissa paused in her response. She did not know the proper tithing customs. Or, she may have once _known_ them, but now, could not recall. "What tithe is acceptable?" she asked, digging into the coin purse at her side.

"Might I suggest thirty silver?" the Revered Mother asked.

Elissa rummaged through the abundant and heavy coin. She had made certain through their travels to sell any unnecessary equipment, baubles, or other items they had come upon. It made for lighter travel. It also made for a heavier purse. The Revered Mother's words echoed in her ears. _Our need has never been greater._ Elissa counted one more time to be sure. The sum was the same as her first count. They could spare quite a bit of coin.

"I…can offer five sovereigns," she suggested. Something in the offer made her uncomfortable. Knowing what they sought of the Mother, it made this feel like something of a bribe. Well, no matter, they would need all the help they could get, even if they had to buy it.

Behind the others, a soft smile tugged at Leliana's mouth. It was nice to see that Elissa had not completely changed with the loss of her memory. Truthfully, she had not changed much at all, other than the fact that she was much less inhibited, bolder, when it came to her flirtations with Leliana. But…was that all they were to her? Flirtations? Leliana felt sick to her stomach of a sudden. Perhaps it was best not to think too much on these matters.

The Revered Mother smiled warmly. "These poor souls will weep at your generosity. Thank you. What can I do for you, then?"

"I want to talk about Sten, the qunari you imprisoned."

The Revered Mother stood from her chair and paced the room. "It might have been kinder to execute him, but I leave his fate to the Maker. Why does he interest you?"

"I want him freed. I have use for him," Elissa simply explained.

The Mother shook her head. "Then his next victims might count you and me as their murderers."

Elissa could see this would not be easy. She ran through her options in her mind. She could try to lie to the woman, intimidate her-though that wouldn't be too wise with all the templars mulling about-, she could drop the issue altogether, which would only result back where they had begun. The Warden opened her mouth to speak.

"I was thinking you might release him into my custody."

The Revered Mother considered her words a moment before turning to Leliana, whom she trusted more than a stranger. "And what do you say on this, Leliana. You know your friend better than I."

Leliana hesitated only a bit, faltering for the words to convince her. "These are… unusual times, Your Reverence. With us, the qunari might do some good. I'm sure of it, in fact."

The Revered Mother sighed. "Were things not so desperate…very well, I trust you. Take these keys to his cage, and may the Maker watch over you."

"Thank you, Your Reverence. Your trust is not misplaced."

* * *

The last of the tumblers clicked into place. The lock sprung, opened. Sten glanced down at the Warden as she pulled open the door to his cage. "I must confess, I did not think the priestess would part with it," he admitted.

"She agreed to release you into my custody," the Warden replied.

"So be it. I will follow you against the Blight. I will follow you into battle. In doing so, I shall find my atonement."

"What if I don't lead you to your atonement?" Elissa retorted.

"Then I will find it myself. May we proceed? I am eager to be elsewhere."

Elissa couldn't blame him. She could feel it on the air. The darkspawn were near, closing on the town. They might have a night, perhaps two, but no more than that. The horde would find this place soon enough.

Knowing the layout of the town from having lived there, Leliana suggested the northwest-most expanse of fields to set up their camp for the night, should the haggling for more equipment for their latest addition again cost them the better part of the day.

After a few short quests for the Chanter Devons were complete, they had enough to replace the tithe given to the Chantry. That would more than outfit their qunari companion. A large great-sword and a suit of armor later, they headed to the field to discuss the next course of action they should take.

They were stopped by a group of more than a half-dozen armed refugees. One of the braver ones stepped forward with his explanation. "We heard what was said. You're a Warden." He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know if you killed King Cailan, and Maker forgive me, I don't care. But that bounty on your head could feed a lot of hungry bellies."

_Bounty? _Elissa thought. _Loghain. _This must be his doing. He was the one who betrayed the Ferelden Grey Wardens at Ostagar, so Alistair had told her.

"Attack!"

The refugees rushed them all at once, surrounding with superior numbers. Elissa ran to the first man, the one who'd done the talking. She slammed the hilt of her sword against his forehead. The blow sent him sprawling back to land prone, but two more closed in on either side of her. She could hear Morrigan's spells, blows blocked by Alistair's shield, and the squelch of daggers cutting into flesh.

She swung her sword wide about, keeping the two at bay. A loud grunt issued beside her and Sten rushed one of the men, running him through with his blade. He pushed the body off with a foot and turned to the other man, who had taken distance and drawn a bow. The arrow quivered in his grasp, then he ran. Sten chased after.

Elissa turned back to the others. They were still fighting off more than they could. There was a scream behind her that she assumed was Sten catching up to the bowman. It was abruptly cut off. Elissa joined Alistair in fighting three at a time, to try to even the odds a bit. With Morrigan's spells, Leliana's reflexes, Alistair's prowess, and Sten's pure might, in addition to her own, nothing was left of the bounty hunters but a pile of corpses. It was decided, as the other villagers and refugees looked on, that it would be best if they departed sooner, rather than later.

At the threshold to the arch out of town, they came upon two dwarves beset by a small group of darkspawn, likely a scout patrol that had been sent ahead of the main horde. Rescuing them burned another hour of daylight and gained the Wardens yet another ally. A persistent one.

The merchant, Bodhan Feddic, they would learn, followed them from Lothering to the site of the camp they set up for the night, just three hours on foot beyond the reach of town. He proved his usefulness with a generous discount for the wares he sold, and the talent his son showed with enchantments.

Leliana kept a watchful eye on Elissa, her mind going back to that moment in the spring that morning. The Warden sat on a stump beside Alistair, candidly discussing their options. Alistair suggested they go to the Circle first. Perhaps the mages would have a healer that could cure Arl Eamon said he. Besides, it was along their way. Elissa seemed pliable to his every suggestion. She seemed to defer to him a bit more than she had before. Leliana was not sure what to make of it.

Before her injury, the Warden was bold, confident, never second-guessing of her own instincts. Yet, she remained shy, passive almost when it came to matters of…of the heart. Leliana could not decide which Elissa she preferred. This one was certainly much bolder in her personal affairs, she thought with a blush staining her cheeks, yet on the other hand, she seemed almost an innocent girl when it came to battle and the war that loomed on the horizon, deferring to the senior Warden, and often to Morrigan and even Leliana herself.

Leliana shook her head, letting the thoughts go. Perhaps she was reading too much into the situation. She did tend to do so when left to contemplate and dwell on her thoughts. She put her daggers back into their respective sheathes where she'd finished with cleaning, sharpening, then polishing them as she stared overlong and listened with ears pricked for eavesdropping.

The bard retired to her tent not long after. What she did not expect, was a visitor.

* * *

Elissa ducked into the tent. Finding the sister there she stood a moment in silence, gathering careful words. There was a question burning in her mind since the nightmare. She had to know the answer. Even this need, however, did not keep her from also not wanting to know, to _think_, that she could ever have done such a thing.

Leliana paused at the intrusion, in mid-strip, her robe falling loose about her shoulders where she had undone it in the back. She quickly excused herself and pulled the robe back up, then turned to face her company. "Oh, forgive me, I thought I was alone for the night,"

It was who she had expected. Elissa stood at the entrance to her tent, merely glancing in her direction, a clear question framing her features.

"Come in, if you'd like," Leliana offered with a small gesture.

Elissa walked up to her until they were face to face. Well, until Leliana was looking slightly upward into that lovely face she adored so much. The Warden did not speak for a moment. She brought a hand up and placed gentle fingertips to the wound in Leliana's neck. Her gaze formed into a frown and the bard knew what her question was without being asked.

Elissa was tender, her fingers a feather-light caress upon her scarred skin, a soft tickle that drew a slight gasp from the bard and elicited enticing sensations throughout her body. Leliana's heartbeat escalated. When Elissa opened her mouth, Leliana leaned forward, lips slightly open.

It was not as she expected though. "I did this…" The intonation made it clear, it was not a question. Leliana raised her eyes to meet the Warden's. "Did I not?" she inquired.

Leliana averted her eyes. She could not pain this woman with the burden of truth. She would not understand the circumstance. She would blame herself.

"I dreamt that I did," Elissa continued with her confession.

"You dreamt…?" Were her memories returning to her? Leliana swallowed thickly.

"With a knife," Elissa confirmed.

She leaned closer and bent down. Again, Leliana went to kiss her, only to miss and pucker her lips to thin air. When she opened her eyes, another gasp left her. Elissa's lips tenderly brushed the marred skin at her throat. Leliana swooned in the sensation, repeated gentlest kisses against her neck. Her knees felt weak.

"Why" Elissa asked between kisses, "don't you take revenge against me?"

Leliana could hardly process her words. Even if she had wanted to, Elissa was not exactly making that easy for her, she thought, hands fisting in the Warden's short hair.

"I tried to kill you," she whispered, her voice heavy with regret.

"You…" Leliana gasped, Elissa was driving her mad with desire, "…were not in your right mind…" her whole body trembled with anticipation, her heart fluttered wildly like the wings of a caged bird. Sadness touched her then. This was not Elissa. At least, this was not the Elissa who might remember her. "Please…" she gasped, "..not like this…" Not when she couldn't -wouldn't- even _remember_ her.

Elissa stopped kissing her neck and took a step back from her, a frown creasing her brow. "You…don't want this?"

Leliana could only look up at her with tears in her eyes, the truth being choked by the lump in her throat.

"But…earlier this morning…?"

Leliana shook her head, blinking as the tears spilled and ran down her cheeks. _It's not that,_ she meant to say but couldn't.

"You were the one who told me…to take the moments where I can," Elissa explained of her forwardness.

Leliana swallowed, found her voice again. A question that she needed answered. "Is that all this is? A moment in time?"

Elissa caressed her cheek, wiping the tears that had trailed down her skin. "We may not get another," she replied.

Elissa kissed her again, swiftly, full of passion and desire. Leliana let the Warden's words convince her of their situation and felt the last of her resolve ebb away in that kiss. Her hands gripped tightly of the Warden's shirt. She wanted her, had wanted her since the very beginning when they'd met all those years before. After all that they'd been through, and all they now faced, she needed her. Needed this. She begged between breaks in the kiss, "Please…please…" but for a different reason now. Elissa broke the kiss and stared at her overlong, another yearning question in her eyes.

"Tell me, truthfully.."

Leliana did not expect it when the Warden turned her around and began to peel the robe down off her shoulders. She shivered as the cool night air hit her skin, her mind racing with thoughts of what would transpire in coming moments. It had been so long, so very long indeed. She had not lied when saying the other lay sisters had been pure and chaste. It had been the last time with Marjolaine those many years ago since she…

The robe fell open to her waist, leaving her entire back exposed. "..who did this?" Elissa finished, tracing her hands over the criss-crossing lash-marks. Leliana understood now, and swiftly pulled her robe back on.

"It was a long time ago," she said, turning to face her. Elissa gazed at her with another frown. "It was not you," Leliana explained with a shake of her head, "Of that you can rest assured,"

A silence filled the space between them.

"I…" this was the hardest part. "I lied to you, you know. About why I left Orlais."

"Orlais?"

That was right. Elissa didn't remember. Oh well, it was better to have it out now, and be done with the lies between them, at least in this, no?

Leliana took a breath and let it out. "I left because I was being hunted."

"You were a fugitive?" Though Elissa's memories were blocked, it did not blunt the sharpness of her mind.

"I was betrayed by someone I …thought I could trust." Her explanation took shape, forming into the true story of how she was betrayed by her mentor and former lover, and how she escaped from the Orlesian jail for a treason she did not commit. The tale ended with her finding herself in Ferelden, in the Chantry, in Lothering.

"And that is the reason I am here. The real reason." Leliana held Elissa's gaze, "No more lies between us, at least in this."

_Lies? _Elissa wondered. Were there lies between them? She wanted only truth, and the most honest truth of all was..

Leliana closed her eyes when Elissa leaned toward her as if to kiss again. This time there was no weight to it, no pressure behind it, just the Warden's lips resting gently against her own. Elissa pulled away and Leliana opened her eyes. There was a look in the Warden's eyes that Leliana had never seen from anyone. She didn't know what to make of it.

"I love you." Elissa said before turning to leave.

Leliana watched her go, in a state of shock and when the Warden was gone, she fell to her hands and knees, feeling as though a halla had kicked her in the stomach. "Why..?" she gasped, asking the Maker. "Why this? Why now?" she pleaded, convinced it must be some cruel jest.

After a time, she regained some of her composure, though her mind still raced with doubt. Did the Warden remember her? If so, did she remember her from years ago, or only from the past few weeks? Was she only toying with her? Could she possibly be so sincere?

Leliana had a difficult time falling asleep that night and when she finally did, her dreams were far from chaste.


	30. Dreams in Darkness

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch. 30: Dreams in Darkness

The fortress stood impressively daunting in its sheer size. All around, the stone walls climbed hundreds of feet into the sky, the large arches in the structure at least fifty feet high. The place was unfamiliar, but Elissa did not find that surprising; there was much that she found unfamiliar these days.

She cautiously walked forward. The fortress seemed all but devoid of life for how large it was. Not a soul was present, save herself. She walked on, drawing her blade, eyes roving ahead, scanning for any sign of danger, or the others.

The end of the walkway rounded out into a small, raised platform. Three men were there, other Wardens. One of them she recognized from Alistair's descriptions. The dark-haired man with a full beard; he must be Duncan. He welcomed her approach with a warm enough greeting she felt was inappropriate for the state of things.

"Where is everyone?" she asked, "What of the Blight?"

Duncan's eyes narrowed with concern at her. "Why, don't you remember? The Blight is over. You were there at the final battle when we slew the Archdemon and set the underground lairs ablaze."

Elissa scanned her recent memories and could find nothing of what he suggested. She tried to reason what was happening. "If…that is true, then…we are no longer needed." Perhaps Alistair had left the order, Morrigan returned to the wilds, Leliana to the Chantry.

"The Grey Wardens will be keepers of history," Duncan informed her with an air of pride to his manner, "We will sing songs and tales of the battles that were fought and the deeds that were done, so that others will remember."

Elissa shook her head. His suggestion seemed outright ridiculous to her. She was certain that if he was there, Alistair would have laughed out loud at the thought. "That is not what the Grey Wardens are."

Duncan's face soured. "And I suppose you know what the Grey Wardens are, better than I. Foolish child. I have given you so much and you cast it back in my face. Can you not be content with the peace I offer?"

Elissa remained adamant. Some instinct told her there was something very wrong about this. The air shimmered all around, as if the realm they occupied was not entirely corporeal. "You offer complacency, not peace," she said to the man who called himself "Duncan".

Duncan's agitation grew, his features twisting into a grimace. "It seems only war and death will satisfy you. So be it. Have your war and your darkspawn. May they be your doom!"

He drew his blade and swiped at her. The other two Wardens, a mage and bowman also joined in the attack. Elissa fought back, though her movements seemed slow and awkward in this dream-like realm. The fake 'Duncan' was easier to dispatch than she would have imagined for a senior Warden. The other two proved no more difficult than the illusion of Duncan.

When the battle was over, Elissa saw a small pedestal just beyond the bodies. She approached it. The pedestal activated upon her touch. What appeared to be a map of sorts, with several nodes, spread out before her in a circular pattern. The only one she could access was 'The Raw Fade', so she touched that node.

A swirling pattern of multi-colored lights and fog surrounded her and moments later she was transported to another part of the Fade. A mage stood there. He looked somehow familiar to her.

She grabbed her head as all the events of the hours past came back to her at once: the problems they were told of by Knight Commander Graigor, how they had agreed to regain control of the Circle for the Templars, in exchange for the help of the Mages in the coming battle against the darkspawn, meeting Wynne not too far into the first floor of the tower, Morrigan's decision to stay behind with Alistair in lieu of the older mage and Sten, the horrors, demons, abominations they had fought through to get to the to the top of the tower, and…

HIM. The Sloth Demon. He was the one behind all of this. Elissa knew now that she was indeed in the Fade somewhere. The others must be nearby, there must be some way to get to them, awaken them from whatever pleasant dreams Sloth was using to keep them complacent in this realm.

She spoke to the mage, who identified himself as Niall. Elissa recognized that name as the one Wynne had spoken of, the one who had taken the Litany of Adralla to use against whatever horrors had taken control of the tower. The mage seemed all but given up with despair as he told her of the utter hopelessness of their situation. Elissa would not be won so easily, not after she had fought her way out of her own dream to come here. She was halfway home. There had to be a way out. She could almost feel that there was.

Searching the seemingly endless expanse of the Fade, she rounded a corner and there came upon a rage demon. Someone screamed for help. She fought the demon and slew it, but saw no one. She searched around, turning this way and that when a small voice thanked her and then said, "Down here,"

She glanced down to see a small mouse at her feet. "You can talk?" she asked, though she thought she should not be so surprised. The mouse thanked her again and before it left, it gave her the ability to morph into a mouse herself.

Elissa looked on in wonderment as the Fade stretched even farther than she could have imagined from her new angle down below. From this new vantage point, she saw her way out, a hole in the ground, just large enough for her to fit through. It must lead somewhere. Elissa ventured into the hole.

She came out the other side in a large room with another pedestal at the far corner. There were darkspawn nearby, she could apparently still feel their presence. Which meant, they could feel hers. She morphed out of mouse form and drew her sword. It did not take long for the fiends to find her, a half-dozen rushed in from an adjacent hall.

She cleared these and turned down the hall. There were open corners around every space, and more darkspawn who headed her way as soon as they sensed her. These were nothing compared to the real thing, mere apparitions with only half the strength, though no less stench. She dispatched them as they came and continued down the maze-like walkway.

There would be many more darkspawn, twisting corridors, flaming hounds and mouse-hole short cuts before she would find a Templar's spirit fighting a large grouping of spirit monsters in the center of this Fadescape.

She assumed human form once more and fought by the Templar's side, eliminating the spirits one by one as they worked together to slay them. When the battle was done, the Templar thanked her and showed her how to assume a spirit's form. Elissa practiced a few times before returning to the pedestal to plan her next move.

Pulling up the pedestal map, she had been through the darkspawn invasion and the Raw Fade. There were some places on those islands she had not yet explored due to barriers in her path, locked, massive doors and impenetrable fire blockades. She selected the Burning Tower and was transported there by the expected teleporting lights and swirls.

Another maze of burning corridors met her here. She slew the spirits of burning templars with ease and found ways around the fire with either her spirit or mouse form. At the end of the maze, lay a large room which she could only enter in mouse form.

A dreaming Templar was here. His body was on fire, yet it did not seem to harm him. A rage demon at his side seemed to feed his anger, fueling the fire that burned his body. Elissa switched to spirit form quickly and cast Crushing Prison on the rage demon. With it held at bay for the moment, she switched back to her true body and fought the burning templar toe to toe. With the templar near death, or whatever oblivion this Fade-realm equivocated, the rage demon broke free of her spell and advanced. She ducked and side-stepped a sword blow from the templar and slew the demon in one motion.

With another swing, she defeated the dreaming templar. The man woke from his induced hallucinations and thanked her profusely for setting him free of the demon. He then showed her how to harness her own rage into the form of the Burning Man. Elissa once more found the pedestal and teleported to the Mage Asunder island.

Yet another maze of burning passages, possessed mages. Although the mages did summon large stone golems, but these were easily felled as everything else in this non-substance realm. Dozens of mages she defeated and dozens more golems, relying on mouse and burning man forms to navigate the dead ends and fire-barriers. She freed the cursed dreamer at the end of the tunnels and gained the form of a golem.

Returning to the pedestal, Elissa transported to the final outer island, the Templar's Nightmare. Another complicated maze in which she needed all of the forms she had learned to make her way through masses of abominations, demons, corpses and other blighted creatures. Finally reaching the end chamber of the maze, she slew the desire demon, Vereveel.

Looking to the pedestal, Elissa found she could not yet reach any of the nightmares where her friends must be. There was something else to be done. Frustrated, she teleported back to beginning and made her way back through all of the islands, finding and slaying the demons one by one: Yeneva, Slavren, Uthkiel, and Rhagos.

Finally, the individual nightmares on the pedestal lit up, allowing her access. She chose the first one on the left and was transported to a small area of the Fade. Here was Sten. He was joined by two more of his kind. The warriors griped back and forth about something that was being cooked by one of them. They noticed her presence and complained about that as well. Sten silenced them with an order before regarding her.

"This is not real, Sten."

"I know," he simply replied.

"We must go,"

"Why?"

Elissa ran through her options in her mind. She processed what she knew of the silent, mysterious man, having known him less than a week. He was a practical man, if she knew nothing else. He also held personal honor in high regard. "You gave me your word, to help me against the Blight," she reminded him.

Sten gave a sneer of contemplation for a moment. "Yes, I did. Very well," he agreed.

"Sten, you're leaving us?" one of the Beresad questioned, while the other protested, "You cannot leave us!"

The two warriors rose to their feet, weapons drawn, and turned on them. Sten fought the apparitions of his long-dead friends and comrades, Elissa, his new comrade at his side. When the battle was over, Sten thanked her for setting him free of the nightmare. He then vanished from her sight in a swirl of teleporting lights and colors. "What, more trickery?" he cried, his voice fading out as his visage vanished from sight.

Elissa once more utilized the pedestal to take her to the next nightmare. A few moments of swirling teleportation limbo, brought a gruesome sight. Wynne despaired over the bodies of a half-dozen mages, her charges, who lay slaughtered before her eyes. They failed to secure the tower, she was certain of it.

Wynne took much more convincing than Sten. She was so locked into her despair she refused to see any evidence that this situation was as false as everything else around her.

"You are a mage, can you not even sense that this is the Fade?" Elissa finally reasoned.

"The Fade…?…I…had not considered…" Wynne grabbed her head and seemed to have trouble thinking clearly. "It is… difficult to concentrate…it's as if something is preventing it," she admitted.

One of the bodies rose up. It was an elven male. "Don't leave us, Wynne," it pleaded.

Wynne gasped and made the sign of the Maker in front of herself, "Don't come any closer, creature!" she warned. The elf mage's ghost pleaded once more with her to stay, and when Wynne again denied wanting to, the other bodies around them rose up.

Elissa fought them off while Wynne supported her with healing spells. When the ghost mages were slain, Wynne offered her thanks to Elissa before she began to teleport out of the nightmare realm. "Wait… where are you going?" she heard as Wynne disappeared.

Turning back to the pedestal, there was only one nightmare left. However, nothing could have prepared her for what she was about to see. Elissa transported into Leliana's nightmare, in which the Chantry sister knelt in deference to her Revered Mother and recited a common verse. Two Chantry brothers were also present. This was not what caught Elissa's immediate attention. Something was off. She sensed it at once, and when she saw it for what it was, the realization struck her like a physical blow. Leliana's hair was red.

A deep, beautiful, burning auburn color that reminded of the setting sun. Elissa grabbed her head, doubling over with pain as myriad, disconnected images flashed through her mind. A kiss with candy. A hand-combat fight. Chaos and darkspawn, a burning field at night, and there across the field, the Chantry sister, with dark hair this time -_it must be dyed- _. A flute played off-key, a boy laughs and runs to her, and across the way, she sees her for the first time, long red hair flowing in the gentle breeze, that beautiful voice. A stranger above her. A knife to the throat. Blood-stained hands. Bloody knife falls to the ground. Back to the boy laughing, she approaches the redhead. Words spoken, heart fluttering. They touch hands. All the while that voice. This feeling.

The pain subsides with the fading memories. Elissa looks up, her heart beating faster, harder. She knows now. She knows Leliana from somewhere, long before the darkspawn came, long before they met in Lothering. There were questions that remained. Did the Chantry sister remember her? Had she recognized her in Lothering? Why had she not mentioned something this important? They would have to have a long talk when this was over.

Elissa approached the kneeling sister. Leliana glanced up and looked to the Revered Mother. "Who is this person?"

Elissa sighed. Great. "Come with me, we have darkspawn to slay," Elissa tried, grabbing her hand and pulling her away, but the sister did not budge and pulled her hand back.

"No. I cannot go with you. I do not know who you are."

"Leave her be," the Revered Mother chided, "Can't you see she's at peace here?"

Elissa turned to Leliana. All those times they'd spoken of her thoughts on the Maker and she herself said she had a vision. "Don't you remember why you left the Chantry?" she pleaded.

"My vision…"

"Leliana, we have spoken of this 'vision' of yours," the Revered Mother began attempting to deny her rational thoughts and re-convince her of the dream, "The Maker is gone. He does not interfere in the lives of mortals."

Leliana shook her head. "My vision may not have come from the Maker, but it guides me to do what is right. My Revered Mother knew this. I do not know who you are, but you are not her." Leliana turned to Elissa. "I do not know you, but I feel that I …_trust_ you."

"Then come with me," Elissa said, and offered her hand.

Leliana stretched hers out to reach, but the Revered Mother protested.

"No, you cannot leave!" She turned on them as expected. Once the apparition and its minions were defeated, Leliana left the dream-Fade, woken from her nightmare.

Heading to the pedestal one last time, Elissa activated the center island. The dreamers woke together in the Sloth demon's domain. He complained and tried to convince them that he could make them all really happy, if just given a second chance. As expected, all of Elissa's companions refused. She smiled toothily at the demon.

"We don't want any more of your lies!"

The battle against Sloth was a long one. The demon morphed into various forms and they had to defeat each one only to find that he would change into another. He was a slippery demon, with more life-force than one should have. Eventually, numbers overcame demonic treachery.

The companions were returned to the real world, the fourth floor of the tower, where this long nightmare had begun. The Sloth abomination's body collapsed to the floor, spent of its unnatural life-force. Niall's body lay beside it.

Elissa remembered what he had said to her before she left to confront Sloth. _Find the Litany on my body…use it to save the Circle. I was never meant to be a hero. The Sloth demon feeds on my body, using my life-force to fuel these nightmares._ She felt pity for the man. He had done the right thing, the noble thing, but…simply, ran out of time.

Elissa knelt down and searched his robes for the Litany of Adralla, the only way to guard themselves against a blood mage's mind-control abilities. She found it tucked away under the waistband. She gave it to Wynne for safe keeping.

Leliana knelt over Niall's body. She recited a short canticle, asking the Maker to take His brave, fallen child into His arms once more. Wynne knelt beside Leliana and assured her that after the tower was secured, they would come back to scatter his ashes to the four winds.

Wynne rose to her feet. "We must hurry to the Harrowing Chamber,"


	31. Blizzard

-The Rose's Thorn-

Ch. 31: Blizzard

The snow never stopped falling in the mountains south of Redcliffe. It had been snowing for two weeks without a break. The group trudged drearily through deep drifts. The biting cold numbed their extremities. The howling wind swirled up some of the lighter flakes of fluff and threw it at them, stinging their eyes, faces, and any other part of their skin that was exposed. It was tolerable, barely, but Elissa kept a close eye on Wynne. The old mage seemed the most bothered by the freezing temperatures.

The drop in temperature in the last hour had seemed more than normal. The cold made even breathing uncomfortable, as the extreme chill would be inhaled and brought into the body, making it seem even colder. Wynne rubbed her hands together, a familiar ache in the tendons between her fingers. A blizzard was coming. They needed shelter, fast.

Alistair returned from scouting ahead. He panted with the effort of jogging through the white fluff to tell them all the great news. "We can make camp just ahead. There's a valley over the next ridge." Exhausted shouts of relief rewarded him for his news and the band of heroes found renewed vigor in their steps.

The valley consisted of a small clearing between two passes that had come together. The ground was frozen solid from the cold, but the mountain wall had kept most of the snow at bay. The group went about their separate chores to make the camp ready. Sten attempted to get a large fire started in the center of the camp. It likely would not last through the night with the coming weather, but for the moment, it would help keep everyone a bit warmer, and that was something to be grateful for.

Alistair tried to help Morrigan get the herbs ready for cooking. Morrigan, irritated by his presence, bluntly told him she could do it herself, and that he should find some other way to make himself useful- if that was even _possible_.

Leliana attempted to drive a stake into the frozen ground, but it proved beyond her capability, not that it would stop her from trying. Behind her, a familiar step approached. She knew those footfalls by the mere sound of them, but still had the grace to act surprised when Elissa knelt beside her. She held out a hand for the sledge and Leliana gave it to her. With one strong slam, the stake wedged down into the icy ground with just enough left sticking up to tie the edge of the canvas to.

Three more quick strikes and the support poles placed and Leliana's tent was ready to set up. She grabbed one end of the canvas while Elissa grabbed the opposite end and together they lay the thick material over the support poles, then tied it down to the stakes. When that was finished, Elissa stood straight.

"We should sleep together tonight," she said aloud. Loud enough for the others to hear.

Leliana felt herself flush with mild discomfort. Her face was a look of pure shock. Her eyes were wide, her mouth hung open slightly. She was dumbstruck. Had she heard correctly? Did Elissa really want to? Tonight? Her throat was dry and she tried to swallow. "Well,… I suppose I've been propositioned before, but never quite so…bluntly," she murmured without thinking.

Elissa regarded her with curiosity for a moment, then turned back to the others who had stopped mid-track in what they were doing. "For warmth," she finished.

Sten spoke. "She is correct. The heat from our bodies will keep us warmer than alone. Otherwise, we may all freeze,"

"Well," Alistair suggested, "I suppose four furs _are_ better than two,"

Leliana coughed nervously. "That's a wonderful idea," she said, placing a hand on Elissa's shoulder as if to make subtle claim on her.

Altogether, three tents were put up. Alistair would share Sten. Morrigan and Wynne would share another. The final tent would be shared between Leliana and Elissa.

The night came on sooner than expected with the sky darkening early and the howling winds picking up speed and fury as the blizzard approached.

Safely tucked away in the tent they shared Elissa sat with a fur around her shoulders, huddling in on herself from the cold. She stared blatantly at Leliana. She just could not strike that image from her mind. She gazed thoughtfully at the woman who sat across from her. Time had not faded her attraction for this woman. Circumstance had brought them together. _Was it fate?_

Elissa was confused, torn. She liked Leliana, truly liked her as a friend. They spoke often, usually with Elissa listening as the bard wove grand tales of other places and times. Elissa enjoyed the stories, but perhaps it wasn't even about that, she wondered. Maybe she only used the stories as an excuse to spend time with her. It really wasn't hard to figure out why.

She couldn't deny her attraction to this woman. Still, she found herself unable to shake the images in her mind. The same woman, with a different look about her. She knew that Alistair had his reservations about her. When he had noticed that the two were growing closer, he had pulled Elissa aside and explained his thoughts on the possibility of her former life as a spy. He concluded that she could still very well be one, waiting for her moment to strike them down, or betray them to her master.

Leliana could feel the Warden's eyes upon her, boring into the back of her skull. Elissa didn't realize that she had been staring until Leliana spoke. She turned slightly to glance over a shoulder at the Warden. "What's on your mind?" she asked. When Elissa did not immediately answer, she clarified. "You've been staring at me for weeks now. Is something bothering you? Something you'd like to discuss?" She turned fully to face the Warden.

Elissa spoke slowly, recounting the images she had seen. "In the tower…I saw you, in the Fade…but your hair…"

This perked Leliana's interest though she tried not to show it outwardly.

"It was…" Elissa raised her eyes to look at Leliana, " ..red,"

Leliana nodded, no sense in denying the truth. "It was," she admitted, "for a time… but I've found that I prefer it dyed this color,"

Elissa reached out and caught some of the strands, allowing them to flow between her fingers. A look of remorse passed on her face. "I like the red," she whispered, "..so beautiful…like the setting sun,"

Elissa dropped her hand back down inside her fur and snuggled it closer around her body. Leliana broke the awkward silence that had followed the Warden's confession. "Maybe… one day… I can change it back," she offered.

Elissa offered a small smile in response. She scooted closer to Leliana and joined her under her fur. She draped the one she had been using over top of the other one. "We've a long road and an early start tomorrow." With that, the Warden stretched once and settled in next to Leliana.

Already the bard could feel the warmth emanating from the Warden's body, even without the removal of their clothing, it was far too cold for that. Leliana snuggled closer to the Warden under the furs, grateful for the company and the warmth.

Some time later, both women lay awake, restless, unable to sleep. Neither woman realized that other was still awake. Elissa lay on her back, gazing at the tent's ceiling, wondering to herself. _Is she asleep? Would she mind if I put my arm around her? What if I accidentally wake her? What would she think? How would she feel about it?_

She wanted desperately to hold the other woman, had not touched her since Leliana had pulled away from her weeks ago, begging her not to do or say such things to her. Her feelings for the woman had grown over the past few weeks, they had grown with the mystery of who she really was, what she had been to Elissa before her accident, why she was hiding, what she was hiding.

Elissa felt it wouldn't matter whatever the truth turned out to be. She would still love the woman no less for her past, any mistakes that may have been made. She only wished Leliana could see that she loved her that much.

Inches away, Leliana wrestled with her own thoughts. _Oh, I bet she's so very warm… _In fact, she could feel the warmth radiating from the Warden. Body heat._ Suppose I snuggle closer…? No, surely that would wake her… then what would she think of me?_ Leliana fought the urge to snuggle closer to the Warden, but it was difficult. It was a battle she would eventually lose. In the end, she had to turn her whole body away from her.

Leliana shifted onto her side, and the furs went with her. Instinctively, Elissa snuggled closer to her, spooning her. She gently placed an arm over the bard's smaller body. Leliana's heart raced. With their bodies this close, she could feel Elissa's heart pounding furiously. She wasn't asleep.

_Does she know that I am awake? _

The bard recalled how very carefully the Warden had placed an arm around her. _No, she must think I am asleep._

Leliana's heart pounded harder. She took Elissa's hand in her own and intertwined her fingers with the Warden's, caressing them ever so slightly. She settled deeper into the crook of Elissa's body and pulled the Warden's arm closer around her. Neither of them said a word. The two settled together into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

_You are Nothing! Nothing without me! Now you will rot here, so you can learn where your loyalties should have lied! May the Maker have mercy on your soul…_

That last was said with such mockery, such utter disdain in her tone, it stung Leliana physically, even here in the Fade. Her bitter tears struck the cold, damp stones where she lay.

_How could you betray me like this? I love you!, _she begged.

_Rot, Leliana. Learn what disobedience earns you in the end. It is all you deserve for the amount of 'loyalty' you have shown me._

_That was the last time she ever saw Marjolaine. Now the men came, as they would come every night. Her fear never abated, even though she knew what was coming. Sometimes she could fight them off. Other nights, she was not so lucky. This night, He came. The mean one, the brute. He was large, easily six foot tall, and strong. Leliana could not get away, no matter how she struggled. He lay over top of her, holding her down. All she could see was his evil smile. She screamed._

Leliana woke in tears from the stress of her nightmare. She glanced around and realized it was just a dream. She was in her tent, in the valley in the mountains to the north of Haven. Her Grey Warden lay soundly asleep, her eyelids fluttering like butterflies. She curled up next to her, facing her this time. A warm feeling crept over her. Watching Elissa sleep, Leliana thought she could not be more beautiful. In deep sleep her features were softer, her face kinder, sweeter. They did not carry the burden of turning back the Blight as they did in waking hours. Leliana carefully traced the line of freckles on her Warden's cheeks. She smiled at the thought. _My Warden_.

The mabari had been snoring at their feet and he now raised his head and gave a low whine. He padded over to Leliana and whined at her. "What is it, boy?" She knew to trust the war hound's instincts. He lay down with his head on the floor, looking at his master and whined. Leliana's heart sped up. "There's something wrong with Elissa?" she asked. The dog glanced at Leliana, then at the Grey Warden, back to Leliana and whined.

Elissa shifted under the furs and muttered something the bard could not make out.

* * *

_The stench of smoke and copper hung heavy in the air…no, that wasn't right… not copper. It was …blood. Bodies lay slain in the streets. The body of a young boy lay twisted and prone and she felt a distinct sense of loss and the sudden urge to vomit._

_People ran screaming everywhere. Rubble blocked their path. They had to go another way. Where is Father? _

_Father!, she shouted._

_Howe's men found them. They fought valiantly and slew them all. _

_She stared down at the blood on her hands. She had never killed anyone before. Howe's soldier lay dead, his eyes staring blankly at the sky._

_Mother shook her forcefully. _

_Elissa, snap out of it! We must hurry!_

_Father was there. _

_Pup… _

_He was wounded. She looked down in horror at the blood seeping through his fingers from the wound in his gut. There was no time. No time to get a healer. No time to staunch the blood and suture him. Howe's men were at the door. _

_The look in Mother's eyes. _

_Duncan dragging her away screaming…NO! _

_Mother! _

_Father!_

"Mother! Father!" Elissa jerked upright, tears trailing down her face, her arm outstretched reaching for the ghost image of her parents. Sabre, her faithful mabari, came to her side and lay his large head in her lap. She hugged him fiercely and cried. Leliana put a hand on her shoulder, "I'm here for you,".

The Warden looked up, as if only now realizing she was not alone. She could see the tear trails on Leliana's face. Her eyelids were puffy, her eyes bloodshot. She had been crying, but why? Leliana saw the raw pain in the Warden's eyes melt to gentle concern. Elissa reached a hand out to brush a strand of hair out of Leliana's face. She held the bard's face in her hand, wiping the tears from her cheek with her thumb. "You've been crying," she sounded so genuinely concerned.

"I had a nightmare," she confessed, "It is over now. I am fine." She took Elissa's hand and kissed her palm. "Thank you for caring, my friend,"

_That spark… _

There was something reminiscent in that small touch, the flurry of electrical energy that passed from one to the other at the touch of bare skin. Something akin to the ghost of a dim memory prodded from some place deep in Elissa's mind. Where the bard's lips touched her skin, Elissa felt a jolt of static. She wanted desperately to… but no, now was not the time for such things. Still, Elissa could not help but wonder how those soft lips would feel against her own at that moment.

The Warden suppressed her feelings, though it was difficult. Leliana had expressed her desire not to further their relationship anytime soon. Perhaps with all the stress of the situation, she felt it would be too much to handle, especially with Elissa's memory out of commission for the time being. Elissa put a hand on Leliana's shoulder, curious and concerned to know what could have the woman in tears.

"What did you dream?" she asked.

"I…" Leliana faltered.

The howling wind picked up outside. Small drafts seeped through tiny places where the canvas violently flapped. Leliana shivered. She sneezed.

Elissa scooted closer to the Chantry sister and wrapped her arms around her. She held the smaller woman to her front. Slowly, Leliana's shivers subsided some, and given more time, they stopped altogether. "You're catching cold," Elissa murmured into the dark hair beside her lips. She recalled seeing the thick layer of flakes that had settled atop her head that morning. She cursed herself silently for not insisting the sister wear some kind of cap over her head like everyone else had done.

Leliana leaned back into Elissa's arms, settled and warm now. Her dream seemed as though it were a thousand miles away. She knew Marjolaine at least had to be, and even if she wasn't, she felt safe in the Warden's arms. Nothing could hurt her here. No one could touch her.

"I dreamt… of a time long ago. When I was in prison in Orlais. The person who betrayed me came back one last time to torment me."

Elissa hugged her tighter.

"I…was made to suffer a traitor's sentence. Torture…and…other methods were used to make me confess, even though I was not guilty."

"Shhh," Elissa hushed. She quietly stroked the sister's hair and hugged her as tight as she could. She said the things that would comfort Leliana, that Leliana wanted to hear from her, but would not ask for. "You're safe now. I won't ever let anyone hurt you."

They remained silent for a long time. Leliana grasped the Warden's hand through one of her own and wrapped it around her waist. She gave it a small squeeze.

"What did you dream?" Leliana asked, recalling the words the Warden had shouted upon waking so violently. Whatever she had dreamed, it couldn't be good.

Lost in her own thoughts, Elissa returned slowly to the question at hand. Her dream?

"I…dreamt," Elissa tried to remember the blurry images that made little sense to her now that she was no longer in the Fade. "..of my mother…and my father,"

Leliana turned to glance back over her shoulder at the Warden, a curious brow arched over her eye. "Oh?" she questioned. Perhaps some of the Warden's memories were returning. Perhaps it was a good sign.

"There…was a battle… fire everywhere. There was a boy…I think…he was…"

Leliana braced herself for the pain she sensed would be coming from the Warden. She turned in Elissa's arms to face her. This part of the story she already knew.

"…my nephew…" came the choked whisper.

Leliana wrapped her arms as tight as they would go around the Warden and let the woman cry on her shoulder. She knew Elissa was crying partly for the loss and partly because she could not remember it and knew she should. She placed a gentle kiss on a wet, salty cheek.

"Shh. You're safe now. I won't ever let anything hurt you,"

Elissa's tears abated at the sound of her own words recanted back to her. A slight smile pursed her lips. "I love you," she whispered.

Leliana returned the small affection with a kiss. "I love you," she replied.

Elissa pursued an attempt to further the moment, deepen the kiss, and when it became too much to bear, Leliana stopped her. "But, we still mustn't…" she warned.

Elissa sighed, resigned to her relegated chastity for the foreseeable future. Instead, she lay back down in to the furs and pulled Leliana close. Despite the extreme cold, moments later, both were fast asleep.


End file.
